Titanic: A Story Told
by Bohemian Anne
Summary: A novelization of the film Titanic, taken mostly from the screenplay.
1. Prologue

Prologue

Darkness. Deep beneath the waters of the North Atlantic, where no light penetrates, lies the great ship _Titanic._

Its story has been told in book and in song, on stage and on screen. The tale never fails to move those who learn of it.

People were filled with hope when the great ship was launched, believing that at last they had conquered nature, building a ship that could never sink, a ship that would never bring about the sorrows known to so many ocean-goers before. Filled with hope and promise, the ship set sail for America—but never reached it.

Even when the iceberg struck on April 14, 1912, many people still believed that the ship could not sink. Tragically, they were wrong. The ship vanished into the depths of the ocean, taking fifteen hundred passengers with it—men, women, even children. Many of them had set out on the journey filled with hope for the future.

Now, the ship lies in pieces on the ocean floor, inhabited only by a few hardy sea creatures—and, perhaps, a few ghosts. Few people have viewed the wreck since it disappeared beneath the sea so many years ago. The Titanic is gone—but never forgotten.


	2. Chapter One

Chapter One

Blackness. Then two faint lights appeared, close together, growing brighter. They resolved into two deep submersibles, free-falling like express elevators. One was ahead of the other, looking like a spacecraft blazing with lights, bristling with insectile manipulators. It descended away into the limitless blackness below. Soon they were fireflies, then stars. Then gone.

Inside the first falling submersible, Mir One, was a cramped seven-foot sphere, crammed with equipment. Anatoly Mikailavich, the submersible's pilot, sat hunched over his controls, singing softly in Russian.

Next to him on one side was Brock Lovett. He was in his late thirties, deeply tanned, and liked to wear his Nomex suit unzipped to show the gold from famous shipwrecks covering his chest hair. He was a wily, fast-talking treasure hunter, a salvage superstar who was part historian, part adventurer, and part vacuum cleaner salesman. At that moment, he was propped against the CO2 scrubber, fast asleep and snoring.

On the other side, crammed into the remaining space, was a bearded wide-body named Lewis Bodine, who was also asleep. Lewis was a Remotely Operated Vehicle pilot and the resident Titanic expert.

Anatoly glanced at the bottom sonar and made a ballast adjustment.

The bottom of the sea was a pale, dead-flat lunar landscape. It got brighter, lit from above, as Mir One dropped to the sea floor in a down blast from its thrusters. It hit bottom after its two-hour free-fall with a loud bonk.

Lovett and Bodine jerked awake at the landing.

Anatoly spoke in his heavy Russian accent. "We are here."

Minutes later, the two submersibles skimmed over the sea floor to the sound of side scan sonar and the thrum of big thrusters.

The featureless gray clay of the bottom unrolled in the lights of the submersibles. Bodine was watching the side scan sonar display, where the outline of a huge pointed object was visible. Anatoly lay prone, driving the submersible, his face pressed to the center port.

Bodine tried to direct him. "Come left a little. She's right in front of us, eighteen meters. Fifteen. Thirteen...you should see it."

Anatoly was growing tired of Bodine's attitude. "Do you see it? I don't see it...there!"

Out of the darkness, like a ghostly apparition, the bow of the ship appeared. Its knife-edge prow was coming straight at them, seeming to plow the bottom sediment like ocean waves. It towered above the sea floor, standing just as it landed eighty-four years before.

The Titanic. Or what was left of her. Mir One went up and over the bow railing, intact except for an overgrowth of rusticles draping it like mutated Spanish moss.

Brock Lovett's face filled the black and white frame of a video camcorder. "It still gets me every time."

He turned the camera to the front view port, looking over Anatoly's shoulder, to the bow railing visible in the lights beyond. Anatoly turned. "Is just your guilt because of stealing from the dead."

Brock turned the camera in his hand so it pointed at his own face. "Thanks, Tolya. Work with me, here."

Brock resumed his serious, pensive gaze out the front port, with the camera aimed at himself at arm's length. "It still gets me every time...to see the sad ruin of the great ship sitting here, where she landed at 2:20 in the morning, April 15, 1912, after her long fall from the world above."

Anatoly rolled his eyes and muttered in Russian. Bodine, who had been watching the sonar, snorted with laughter. "You are so full of shit, boss."

Mir Two drove aft down the starboard side, past the huge anchor, while Mir One passed over the seemingly endless forecastle deck, with its massive anchor chains still laid out in two neat rows, its bronze windlass caps gleaming. The twenty-two foot long submersibles were like white bugs next to the enormous wreck.

Lovett turned the camera back toward the window. "Dive nine. Here we are again on the deck of Titanic...two and a half miles down. The pressure is three tons per square inch, enough to crush us like a freight train going over an ant if our hull fails. These windows are nine inches thick and if they go, it's sayonara in two microseconds."

Mir Two landed on the boat deck, next to the ruins of the Officer's Quarters. A ghostly echo seemed to surround the submersible—people shouting and screaming, music playing in the background. The occupants of Mir Two suppressed a shudder.

Mir One landed on the roof of the deckhouse nearby.

Lovett turned the camera off. "Right. Enough of that bullshit. Let's go to work."

Bodine slipped on a pair of 3D electronic goggles, and grabbed the joystick controls of the ROV.

Outside the submersible, the ROV, a small orange and black robot called Snoop Dog, lifted from its cradle and flew forward.

Bodine grinned as he manipulated the controls. "Walking the dog."

Snoop Dog drove itself away from the submersible, paying out its umbilical behind it like a robot yo-yo. Its twin stereo-video cameras swiveled like insect eyes. The ROV descended through an open shaft that once was the beautiful First Class Grand Staircase.

Snoop Dog went down several decks, then moved laterally into the First Class Reception Room.

Snoop Dog moved through the cavernous interior. The remains of the ornate hand-carved woodwork, which gave the ship its elegance, moved through the floodlights, the lines blurred by slow dissolution and descending rusticle formations. Stalactites of rust hung down so that at times it looked like a natural grotto, then the scene shifted and the lines of a ghostly undersea mansion could be seen again. Snoop Dog passed ghostly images of Titanic's opulence.

A grand piano, in amazingly good shape, lay crashed on its side against a wall. The keys gleamed black and white in the lights.

A chandelier, still hanging from the ceiling by its wire, glinted as Snoop Dog moved around it.

Its lights played across the floor, revealing a champagne bottle, then some White Star Line china, then a woman's high-top granny shoe. Then something eerie: what looked like a child's skull resolved into the porcelain head of a doll.

Snoop Dog entered a corridor, which was much better preserved. Here and there a door still hung on its rusted hinges. An ornate piece of molding and a wall sconce hinted at the grandeur of the past.

The ROV turned and went through a black doorway, entering room B-52, the sitting room of a promenade suite, one of the most luxurious staterooms on Titanic.

Bodine spoke up. "I'm in the sitting room. Heading for bedroom B-54."

Lovett nodded, then warned, "Stay off the floor. Don't stir it up like you did yesterday."

Bodine snapped back. "I'm trying, boss."

The brass fixtures of the near-perfectly preserved fireplace glinted in the lights. An albino Galathea crab crawled over the hearth. Nearby were the remains of a divan and a writing desk. Snoop Dog crossed the ruins of the once elegant room toward another door. It squeezed through the doorframe, scraping rust and wood chunks loose on both sides. It moved out of a cloud of rust and kept on going.

Bodine was watching closely. "I'm crossing the bedroom."

The remains of a pillared canopy bed were visible in the light. Lovett grinned. "That's Hockley's bed. That's where the son of a bitch slept."

Bodine smirked. Broken chairs and a dresser moved through the light. Through the collapsed wall of the bathroom, the porcelain commode and bathtub looked almost new, gleaming in the dark.

Bodine grinned. "Uh-oh. Looks like someone left the water running."

Lovett had noticed something. "Come back over here. I want to see what's under that wardrobe door."

Bodine moved the robot back. "You smelling something, boss?"

The ROV deployed its manipulator arms and started moving debris aside. A lamp was lifted, its ceramic colors as bright as they were in 1912.

Lovett was tense, watching. "Easy, Lewis. Take it slow. It might come apart."

Snoop Dog gripped a wardrobe door, lying at an angle in a corner, and pulled it over. It moved reluctantly in a cloud of silt. Under it was a dark object. The silt cleared and Snoop Dog's cameras showed them what was under the door.

Bodine was excited. "Oh, baby, baby, are you seeing this, boss?"

Lovett was watching his monitors with a rapt expression. It was like he was seeing the Holy Grail. "It's payday, boys."

In the glare of the lights was the object of their quest: a small steel combination safe.


	3. Chapter Two

Chapter Two

The safe, dripping wet in the afternoon sun, was lowered onto the deck of a ship by a winch cable.

They were on the Russian research vessel Akademik Mistislav Keldysh. A crowd had gathered, including most of the crew of Keldysh, the sub crews, and a hand-wringing money guy named Bobby Buell who represented the limited partners. There was also a documentary video crew, hired by Lovett to cover his moment of glory.

Everyone crowded around the safe. In the background Mir Two was being lowered into its cradle on deck by a massive hydraulic arm. Mir One had already recovered with Lewis Bodine following Brock Lovett as he bounded over to the safe like a kid on Christmas morning.

Bodine waved a bottle of champagne. "Who's the best? Say it. Say it."

"You are, Lewis."

Bodine gave Lovett an ebullient kiss on the cheek, then popped the cork on the champagne bottle. Champagne sprayed everywhere.

Lovett stuck a cigar in his mouth. "You rolling?"

The cameraman nodded. "Rolling."

Brock nodded to his technicians, and they set about drilling the safe's hinges. During this operation, Brock amped the suspense, working the lens to fill the time.

"Well, here it is, the moment of truth. Here's where we find out if the time, the sweat, the money spent to charter this ship and these subs, to come out here to the middle of the North Atlantic...were worth it. If what we think is in that safe...is in that safe...it will be."

Lovett grinned wolfishly in anticipation of his greatest find yet. The door was yanked loose. It clanged onto the deck. Lovett moved closer, peering into its interior. He dug into the safe, pulling out an ancient portfolio and handfuls of wet paper. Nothing. He felt around the inside of the safe. After long moment, his face said it all.

"Shit." He stood up.

Bodine watched him, half with sympathy, half with amusement. "You know, boss, this same thing happened to Geraldo and his career never recovered."

Lovett was too disappointed to be amused. He noticed the cameraman still filming him.

"Turn the camera off," he snapped, walking away.

*****

Technicians were carefully removing some papers from the safe and placing them in a tray of water to separate them safely. Nearby, other artifacts from the staterooms were being washed and preserved.

Buell was on the satellite phone with the investors. Lovett was yelling at the video crew.

"You send out what I tell you when I tell you. I'm signing your paychecks, not 60 Minutes. Now get set up for the uplink."

Buell covered the phone and turned to Lovett. "The partners want to know how it's going?"

"How it's going? It's going like a first date in prison, what do you think?" Lovett grabbed the phone from Buell and went instantly smooth. "Hi, Dave? Barry? Look, it wasn't in the safe...no, look, don't worry about it, there're still plenty of places it could be...in the floor debris in the suite, in the mother's room, in the purser's safe on C Deck..."

Buell interjected, "Jimmy's office briefcase..."

Lovett glared at him, then noticed something the technicians had found. "Hang on a second."

A tech coaxed some letters in the water tray to one side with a tong...revealing a conte crayon drawing of a woman.

Brock looked closely at the drawing, which was in excellent shape, though its edges had partially disintegrated. The woman was beautiful, and beautifully rendered. In her late teens or early twenties, she was nude, though posed with a kind of casual modesty. She was on an Empire divan, in a pool of light that seemed to radiate outward from her eyes. Scrawled in the lower right corner was the date: April 14, 1912. And the initials JD.

The girl was not entirely nude. At her throat was a diamond necklace with one large stone hanging in the center.

"Give me the photo of the necklace!" Brock gestured to the techs, hope lighting his eyes.

Buell glanced at the drawing. "Looks like we might have something here."

Lovett grabbed the reference photo from the clutter on the lab table. It was a period black-and-white photo of a diamond necklace on a black velvet jeweler's display stand. He held it next to the drawing. It was clearly the same piece, a complex setting with a massive central stone, which was almost heart-shaped.

Lovett looked at the two pictures, realizing what he had found.

"I'll be God damned."


	4. Chapter Three

Chapter Three

A CNN news story could be heard in the background of the house in Ojai, a live satellite feed from the deck of the Keldysh, intercut with the CNN studio.

The announcer looked at the teleprompter. "Treasure hunter Brock Lovett is best known for finding Spanish gold in sunken galleons in the Caribbean. Now he is using deep submergence technology to work two and a half miles down at another famous wreck...the Titanic. He is with us live via satellite from a Russian research ship in the middle of the Atlantic...hello Brock?"

Brock signaled to the film crew. "Yes, hi, Tracy. You know, Titanic is not just A shipwreck, Titanic is THE shipwreck. It's the Mount Everest of shipwrecks."

The CNN report was playing on a television set in the living room of a small, rustic house. It was full of ceramics, figurines, folk art, the walls crammed with drawings and paintings, things collected over a lifetime.

A glassed-in studio was attached to the house. Outside it was a quiet morning in Ojai, California. In the studio, amid incredible clutter, an ancient woman was throwing a pot on a potter's wheel. The liquid red clay covered her hands, hands that were gnarled and age-spotted, but still surprisingly strong and supple. A woman in her late thirties was assisting her.

The news report continued. "I've planned this expedition for three years, and we're out here recovering some amazing things...things that will have enormous historical and educational value."

"But it's no secret that education is not your main purpose. You're a treasure hunter. So what is the treasure you're hunting?"

"I'd rather show you than tell you, and we think we're very close to doing just that. Everyone knows the stories of Titanic—the bravery, the heroism, the band playing up to the end—but I'm interested in the untold stories, the stories locked away under water for eighty-four years."

The old woman's name was Rose Calvert. Her face was a wrinkled mass, her body shapeless and shrunken under a one-piece African-print dress. But her eyes were just as bright and alive as those of a young girl.

Rose got up and walked into the living room, wiping pottery clay from her hands with a rag. A Pomeranian dog got up and came in with her.

The younger woman, Lizzy Calvert, rushed to help her.

Rose walked closer to the television. "Turn that up please, dear."

As Lizzy turned up the sound, Rose's eyes focused on the screen.

"Your expedition is at the center of a storm of controversy over salvage rights and even ethics. Many are calling you a grave robber."

"Nobody called the recovery of the artifacts from King Tut's tomb grave robbing. I have museum-trained experts here, making sure this stuff is preserved and catalogued properly. Look at this drawing, which was found today..."

The video camera panned off Brock to the drawing, in a tray of water. The image of the woman with the necklace filled the screen.

"...a piece of paper that's been underwater for eighty-four years...and my team are able to preserve it intact. Should this have remained unseen at the bottom of the ocean for eternity, when we can see it and enjoy it now?"

Rose was galvanized by this image. Her mouth hung open in amazement. Squinting to see the picture more closely, she exclaimed in surprise, "I'll be God damned."

*****

The Mir submersibles were being launched. Mir Two was already in the water, and Lovett was getting ready to climb into Mir One when Bobby Buell ran up to him.

"There's a satellite call for you."

"Bobby, we're launching. See these submersibles here, going in the water? Take a message."

"No, trust me, you want to take this call."

"This had better be good." Lovett followed Buell back inside.

Buell handed Lovett the phone, punching down the blinking line. "You gotta speak up. She's kind of old."

The call was from Rose. She was in her kitchen with a mystified Lizzy.

"This is Brock Lovett. What can I do for you, Mrs..."

Buell spoke up. "Calvert. Rose Calvert."

"Mrs. Calvert."

"I was just wondering if you had found the Heart of the Ocean yet, Mr. Lovett."

Brock almost dropped the phone. Bobby saw his shocked expression.

"I told you you wanted to take the call."

Lovett spoke into the phone again.

"All right. You have my attention, Rose. Can you tell me who the woman in the picture is?"

"Oh, yes. The woman in the picture is me."


	5. Chapter Four

Chapter Four

An enormous Sea Stallion helicopter thundered across the ocean. There was no land at either horizon. The Keldysh was visible in the distance.

Rose's face was visible, looking out calmly.

Brock and Bodine were watching Mir 2 being swung over the side to start a dive. Bodine clearly wasn't happy.

"She's a goddamned liar! Some nut case seeking money or publicity—God only knows what! Like that Russian babe, Anesthesia!"

Buell gestured to them. "They're inbound."

Brock nodded and the three of them headed forward to meet the approaching helicopter.

Bodine wasn't giving up. "Rose DeWitt Bukater died on the Titanic when she was seventeen. If she had lived, she'd be over a hundred by now."

Lovett wasn't giving up, either. "A hundred and one next month."

"Okay, so she's a very old goddamned liar. Look, I did the background on this woman going back to the twenties, when she was working as an actress...an actress! There's your first clue, Sherlock! Her name was Rose Dawson then. Then she marries a guy named Calvert, they move to Cedar Rapids, and she punches out a couple of kids. Now Calvert's dead, and from what I hear Cedar Rapids is dead."

The Sea Stallion approached the ship, forcing Brock to yell over the rotors.

"And everyone who knows about the diamond is supposed to be dead...or on this ship. But she knows!"

In a thundering down blast the helicopter's wheels bounced down the helipad.

Lovett, Buell, and Bodine watched as the helicopter crew chief handed out about ten suitcases, and then Keldysh crewmen lowered Rose to the deck in a wheelchair. Lizzy, ducking unnecessarily under the rotor, followed her out, carrying Freddy the Pomeranian. The crew chief handed a puzzled Lovett a goldfish bowl with several fish in it.

The little old lady looked impossibly fragile amongst all the high tech gear, grungy deck crew, and gigantic equipment.

Bodine shouted to Lovett.

"Doesn't exactly travel light, does she?"

*****

Lizzy was unpacking Rose's things in the small, utilitarian room. Rose was placing a number of framed photographs on the bureau, arranging them carefully next to the fishbowl. Brock and Bodine were in the doorway.

Brock spoke up. "Is your stateroom all right?"

Rose smiled. "Yes. Very nice. Have you met my granddaughter, Lizzy? She takes care of me."

Lizzy responded. "We met up on deck just as few minutes ago, Nana. Remember?"

Rose brushed her fingers against the top of her head. "Oh, yes."

Brock glanced at Bodine. Bodine rolled his eyes. Rose finished arranging her photographs—pictures of her children and grandchildren, her late husband.

"There, that's nice. I have to have my pictures when I travel."

"Would you like anything? Is there anything I can get you?" Brock asked.

Rose looked up at him. "Yes. I would like to see my drawing."


	6. Chapter Five

Chapter Five

Rose looked at the drawing in its tray of water, confronting herself across a span of eighty-four years. Until they could figure out the best way to preserve it, they had to keep it immersed. It swayed and rippled, almost as if alive.

Rose's ancient eyes gazed at the drawing.

In her mind's eye, she saw a man's hand, holding a conte crayon, deftly creating a shoulder and the shape of her hair with two efficient lines.

She looked at the woman's face in the drawing, dancing under the water.

Once again, her memories focused on the man's eyes, just visible over the top of a sketching pad. They looked up suddenly, right at her. Soft eyes, but fearlessly direct.

Rose smiled, remembering. Brock had the reference photo of the necklace in his hand.

"Louis the Sixteenth wore a fabulous stone, called the Blue Diamond of the Crown, which disappeared in 1792, about the time Louis lost everything from the neck up. The theory goes that the crown diamond was chopped too...recut into a heart-like shape...and it became Le Coeur de la Mer. The Heart of the Ocean. Today it would be worth more than the Hope Diamond."

Rose shook her head. "It was a dreadful, heavy thing." She pointed at the drawing. "I only wore it this once."

Lizzy looked at the picture. "You actually believe this is you, Nana?"

"It is me, dear. Wasn't I a dish?"

Brock interrupted. "I tracked it down through insurance records...an old claim that was settled under terms of absolute secrecy. Do you know who the claimant was, Rose?"

"Someone named Hockley, I should imagine."

"Nathan Hockley, right. Pittsburgh steel tycoon. For a diamond necklace his son Caledon Hockley bought in France for his fiancée...you...a week before he sailed on Titanic. And the claim was filed right after the sinking. So the diamond had to have gone down with the ship." He turned to Lizzy. "See the date?"

Lizzy leaned forward, looking closely. "April 14, 1912."

Bodine broke in, "If your grandmother is who she says she is, she was wearing the diamond the day Titanic sank."

Brock turned to Rose. "And that makes you my new best friend." He went to the table across the room. "Over here are a few things we've recovered from your staterooms."

Laid out on a worktable were fifty or so objects, from mundane to valuable. Rose, shrunken in her chair, could barely see over the tabletop. With a trembling hand she lifted a tortoise shell hand mirror, inlaid with mother of pearl. She caressed it wonderingly.

"This was mine. How extraordinary! It looks the same as the last time I saw it." She turned the mirror over and looked at her ancient face in the cracked glass. "The reflection has changed a bit."

Rose picked up an ornate art-nouveau hair comb. A jade butterfly took flight on the ebony handle of the comb. She turned it slowly, remembering. Rose was experiencing a rush of images and emotions that had lain dormant for eight decades as handled the butterfly comb.

Lovett spoke. "Are you ready to go back to Titanic?"

*****

Bodine started a computer animated graphic on the screen, which paralleled his rapid-fire narration.

"She hits the berg on the starboard side and it sort of bumps along...punching holes like Morse code...dit dit dit, down the side. Now she's flooding in the forward compartments...and the water spills over the tops of the watertight bulkheads, which unfortunately don't go any higher than E Deck, going aft. As her bow is going down, her stern is coming up...slow at first...and then faster and faster until she's got her whole ass sticking up in the air, and that's a big ass, maybe twenty or thirty thousand tons. Now, the hull isn't designed to deal with that kind of weight, so what happens? She splits...right down the middle. Skrrt! Now the bow swings down and the stern falls back level...but the weight of the bow pulls the stern up vertical, and then the bow section detaches, heading for the bottom. The stern bobs like a cork, floods, and finally goes under about 2:20 AM. Two hours and forty minutes after the collision."

The animation then followed the bow section as it sank. Rose watched this clinical dissection of the disaster stoically, showing little sign of the emotions within her.

Bodine continued. "The bow pulls out of its dive and planes away, almost a half a mile, before it hits the bottom going maybe 12 knots. Kaboom!"

The bow impacted, digging deeply into the bottom. The animation then followed the stern.

Bodine, delighted with his handiwork, grinned. "Pretty cool, huh?"

Rose just looked at him. "Thank you for that fine forensic analysis, Mr. Bodine." Bodine had the grace to look sheepish. "Of course, the experience of it was somewhat...different."

Brock pulled out a tape recorder. "Will you share it with us, Rose?"

Her eyes went back to the screens, showing the ruins far below them. The image of the doors to the first class dining salon appeared on one of the monitors, and Rose looked at it, seeing in her mind's eye a steward opening the door for her as well-dressed people walked about inside the brightly lit room. Remembering, she could almost hear the soft waltz music playing.

Abruptly, she snapped back to the present. The doors were covered with rust, enshrouded in darkness. Rose put her hands over her face, gasping against other memories that flooded her mind. Lizzy rushed up to her.

"I'm taking her to rest." She tried to escort Rose away.

"No." Rose's protest was almost feeble.

"Come on, Nana."

"No!" The feeble old lady was gone, replaced by a woman with eyes of steel. She sat down next to Lovett.

"Tell us, Rose."

Rose closed her eyes for a moment, then began. "It's been eighty-four years—"

Lovett interrupted her. "Just try to remember anything, anything at all."

"Do you want to hear this or not, Mr. Lovett?" Lovett looked at her in consternation. "It's been eighty-four years, and I can still smell the fresh paint. The china had never been used. The sheets had never been slept in. Titanic was called the Ship of Dreams. And it was. It really was..."


	7. Chapter Six

Chapter Six

The gleaming white superstructure of Titanic rose mountainously beyond the rail, and above that the buff-colored funnels stood against the sky like the pillars of a great temple. Crewmen moved across the deck, dwarfed by the awesome scale of the steamer.

Southampton, England, April 10, 1912. It was almost noon on sailing day. A crowd of hundreds blackened the pier next to Titanic like ants on a jelly sandwich.

A gorgeous burgundy Renault touring car hung from a loading crane. It was lowered toward hatch number two.

On the pier horse drawn vehicles, motorcars, and lorries moved slowly through the dense throng. The atmosphere was one of excitement and general giddiness. People embraced in tearful farewells, or waved and shouted bon voyage wishes to friends and relatives on the decks above.

A white Renault, leading a silver-gray Daimler-Benz, pushed through the crowd, leaving a wake in the press of people. Around the handsome cars people were streaming to board the ship, jostling with hustling seamen and stokers, porters and barking White Star Line officials.

The Renault stopped and the liveried driver scurried to open the door for a young woman dressed in a stunning white and purple outfit, with an enormous matching hat. She was seventeen years old and beautiful, regal of bearing, with piercing eyes.

It was the girl in the drawing. Rose. She looked up at the ship, taking it in with cool appraisal.

"I don't see what all the fuss is about. It doesn't look any bigger than the Mauritania."

A personal valet opened the door on the other side of the car for Caledon Hockley, the thirty-year-old heir to the elder Hockley's fortune. Cal was handsome, arrogant, and rich beyond meaning.

"You can be blasé about some things, Rose, but not about Titanic. It's over a hundred feet longer than the Mauritania, and far more luxurious."

Cal turned and gave his hand to Rose's mother, Ruth DeWitt Bukater, who descended from the touring car behind him. Ruth was a fortyish society empress, from one of the most prominent Philadelphia families. She was a widow, and ruled her household with an iron will.

"Your daughter is much too hard to impress, Ruth." He indicated a puddle. "Mind your step."

Ruth gazed at the leviathan. "So this is the ship they say is unsinkable."

"It is unsinkable. God himself could not sink this ship." Cal spoke with the pride of a host providing a special experience.

This entire entourage of rich Americans was impeccably turned out, a quintessential example of the Edwardian upper class, complete with servants. Cal's valet, Spicer Lovejoy, was tall and impassive, dour as an undertaker. Behind him emerged two maids, personal servants to Ruth and Rose.

A White Star Line porter scurried toward them, harried by last minute loading.

"Sir, you'll have to check your baggage through the main terminal, round that way—"

Cal nonchalantly handed the man a fiver. The porter's eyes dilated. Five pounds was a monster tip in those days.

"I put my faith in you, good sir." He nodded curtly, indicating Lovejoy. "See my man."

"Yes, sir. My pleasure, sir."

Cal never tired of the effect of money on the unwashed masses.

Lovejoy pulled the porter back toward the cars. "These trunks here, and twelve more in the Daimler. We'll have all this lot up in the rooms."

The White Star man looked stricken when he saw the enormous pile of steamer trunks and suitcases loading down the second car, including wooden crates and a steel safe. He whistled frantically for some cargo-handlers nearby, who came running.

Cal breezed on, leaving the minions to scramble. He quickly checked his pocket watch.

"We'd better hurry. This way, ladies."

He indicated the way toward the first class gangway. They moved into the crowd. Trudy Bolt, Rose's maid, hustled behind them, laden with bags of her mistress's most recent purchases...things too delicate for the baggage handlers.

Cal led, weaving between vehicles and handcarts, hurrying passengers (mostly second class and steerage) and well-wishers. Most of the first class passengers were avoiding the smelly press of the dockside crowd by using an elevated boarding bridge, twenty feet above.

They passed a line of steerage passengers in their coarse wool and tweeds, queued up inside movable barriers like cattle in a chute. A health officer examined their heads one by one, checking scalp and eyelashes for lice.

Cal guided them out of the path of a horse-drawn wagon loaded down with two tons of Oxford marmalade in wooden cases, for Titanic's victualling department.

Rose looked up as the hull of Titanic loomed over them...a great iron wall, Bible black and severe. Cal motioned her forward, and she entered the gangway to the D Deck doors with a sense of overwhelming dread.

It was the ship of dreams...to everyone else. To Rose, it was a slave ship, taking her back to America in chains.

Cal's hand closed possessively over Rose's arm. He escorted her up the gangway and the black hull of Titanic swallowed them.

Outwardly, Rose was everything a well brought up girl should be. Inside, she was screaming.


	8. Chapter Seven

Chapter Seven

The view of Titanic from the window of a pub, several blocks away, towered above the terminal buildings like the skyline of a city. The steamer's whistle echoed across Southampton.

The smoky inside of the pub was crowded with dockworkers and ship's crew. Just inside the window, a poker game was in progress. Four men, in working class clothes, played a very serious hand.

Jack Dawson and Fabrizio di Rossi, both about twenty, exchanged a glance as the other two players argued in Swedish. Jack was American, a lanky drifter with his hair a little long for the standards of the times. He was also unshaven, and his clothes were rumpled from sleeping in them. He was an artist, and had adopted the bohemian style of the art scene in Paris. He was also very self-possessed and sure-footed for twenty, having lived on his own since fifteen.

The two Swedes continued their sullen argument in Swedish.

"You stupid fish head. I can't believe you bet our tickets."

"You lost our money. I'm just trying to get it back. Now shut up and take a card."

Jack spoke up jauntily. "Hit me again, Sven."

Jack took the card and slipped it into his hand. His eyes betrayed nothing.

Fabrizio licked his lips nervously as he refused a card.

The stack in the middle of the table contained bills and coins from four countries. This had been going on for a while. Sitting on top of the money were two third class tickets for RMS Titanic.

The Titanic's whistle blew again. Final warning.

"The moment of truth, boys. Somebody's life's about to change."

Fabrizio put his cards down. So did the Swedes. Jack held his close.

"Let's see...Fabrizio's got niente. Olaf, you've got squat. Sven, uh-oh...two pair...mmm." Jack turned to his friend. "Sorry, Fabrizio."

"What sorry? What you got? You lose my money? Ma va fa'n culo testa di cazzo—"

"Sorry, you're not gonna see your mama again for a long time..." He slapped a full house down on the table. Grinning, he continued, "'Cause you're going to America! Full house, boys!"

"Dio mio, grazie!" Fabrizio was stunned and overjoyed.

The table exploded into shouting in several languages. Jack raked in the money and the tickets.

Olaf balled up one huge farmer's fist. It looked like he was going to clobber Jack, but he swung around and punched Sven, who flopped backward onto the floor and sat there, looking depressed. Olaf forgot about Jack and Fabrizio, who were dancing around, and went into a rapid harangue of his stupid cousin.

Jack kissed the tickets, then jumped on Fabrizio's back and rode him around the pub. It was like they had won the lottery.

"Going home!" Jack shouted.

Fabrizio shouted to the pub keeper. "Capito? I go to America!"

"No, mate. Titanic go to America. I five minutes." He pointed to the clock.

"Shit! Come on, Fabri!" Jack grabbed their stuff. "Come on!" He shouted to everyone in the room, grinning. "It's been grand."

They ran for the door.

*****

"We're riding in high style now! We're practically goddamned royalty, raggazzo mio!"

"You see? Is my destinio! Like I told you. I go to l'America! To be a millionaire!"

Jack and Fabrizio, carrying everything they owned in the world in the lit bags on their shoulders, sprinted toward the pier. They tore through milling crowds next to the terminal. Shouts went up behind them as they jostled slow-moving gentlemen. They dodged piles of luggage, and wove through groups of people. They burst out onto the pier, and Jack came to a dead stop, staring at the vast wall of the ship's hull, towering seven stories above the wharf and over an eighth of a mile long. The Titanic was monstrous.

Fabrizio ran back and grabbed Jack, and they sprinted toward the third class gangway aft, at E deck. They reached the bottom of the ramp just as sixth officer Moody detached it at the top. It started to swing down from the gangway doors.

"Wait! We're passengers!" Flushed and panting, Jack waved the tickets.

"Have you been through the inspection queue?"

Jack lied cheerfully. "Of course! Anyway, we don't have lice, we're Americans." He glanced at Fabrizio. "Both of us."

Moody responded testily. "Right, come aboard."

Jack and Fabrizio whooped with victory as they ran down the white-painted corridor, grinning from ear to ear.

"We are the luckiest sons of bitches in the world!"


	9. Chapter Eight

Chapter Eight

The mooring lines, as big around as a man's arm, were dropped into the water. A cheer went up on the pier as seven tugs pulled the Titanic away from the quay.

Jack and Fabrizio burst through a door onto the aft well deck. They ran across the deck and up the steel stairs to the poop deck. They got to the rail and Jack started to yell and wave to the crowd on the deck.

"You know somebody?"

"Of course not. That's not the point." Jack shouted to the crowd. "Good-bye! Good-bye! I'll miss you!"

Grinning, Fabrizio joined in, adding his voice to the swell of voices, feeling the exhilaration of the moment.

"Good-bye! I will never forget you!"

The crowd of cheering well-wishers waved heartily as a black wall of metal moved past them. Impossibly tiny figures waved back from the ship's rails. Titanic gathered speed.

The prow of Titanic dwarfed the lead tug. The bow wave spread before the mighty plow of the liner's hull as it moved down the River Test toward the English Channel.


	10. Chapter Nine

Chapter Nine

Jack and Fabrizio walked down a narrow corridor with doors lining both sides like a college dorm. There was total confusion as people argued over luggage in several languages, or wandered in confusion in the labyrinth. They passed emigrants studying the signs over the doors, and looking up the words in phrase books.

They found their berth. It was a modest cubicle, painted enamel white, with four bunks. There were exposed pipes overhead. The other two men were already there: Olaus and Bjorn Gundersen.

Jack threw his kit on one open bunk, while Fabrizio took the other.

Bjorn spoke to his cousin in Swedish.

"Where is Sven?"

*****

In stark contrast to steerage, the so-called "Millionaire Suite" was in the Empire style, and comprised two bedrooms, a bath, water closet, wardrobe room, and a large sitting room. In addition, there was a private, fifty-foot promenade deck outside.

A room service waiter poured champagne into a tulip glass of orange juice and handed the Bucks Fizz to Rose. She was looking through her new paintings. There was a Monet of water lilies, a Degas of dancers, and a few abstract works. They were all unknown paintings...lost works.

Cal was out on the covered deck, which had potted trees and vines on trellises, talking through the doorway to Rose in the sitting room. "Those finger paintings were certainly a waste of money."

Rose looked at a cubist portrait. "The difference between Cal's taste in art and mine is that I have some. They're fascinating. Like being inside a dream or something...there's truth but no logic. What's his name again?" She read off the canvas. "Picasso."

Cal came into the sitting room. "He'll never amount to a thing. Trust me. At least they were cheap."

A porter wheeled Cal's private safe into the room on a hand truck.

"Put that in the wardrobe," Cal instructed him.

In the bedroom, Rose entered with the large Degas of the dancers. She set it on the dresser, near the canopy bed. Trudy was already in there, hanging up some of Rose's clothes.

"It smells so brand new. Like they built it all just for us. I mean...just to think that tonight, when I crawl between the sheets, I'll be the first—"

Cal appeared in the doorway of the bedroom. Looking at Rose, he commented, "And when I crawl between the sheets tonight, I'll still be the first."

Trudy blushed at the innuendo. "Excuse me, Miss."

She edged around Cal and made a quick exit. Cal came up behind Rose and put his hands on her shoulders, an act of possession, not intimacy. "The first and only. Forever."

Rose's expression showed how bleak a prospect this was for her now.


	11. Chapter Ten

Chapter Ten

Titanic stood silhouetted against a purple post-sunset sky. She was lit up like a floating palace, and her thousand portholes reflected in the calm harbor waters. The one hundred fifty-foot tender Nomadic lay alongside, looking like a rowboat. The lights of Cherbourg harbor completed the postcard image.

Entering the first class reception room from the tender were a number of prominent passengers. A broad-shouldered woman in an enormous feathered hat came up the gangway, carrying a suitcase in each hand, a spindly porter running to catch up with her to take the bags.

"Well, I wasn't about to wait all day for you, sonny. Take 'em the rest of the way if you think you can manage."

The woman's name was Margaret Brown, but everyone called her Molly. History would call her the Unsinkable Molly Brown. Her husband had struck gold someplace out west, and she was what Ruth called "new money."

At forty-five, Molly Brown was a tough talking straight shooter who dressed in the finery of her genteel peers but would never be one of them.

By the next afternoon they had made their final stop and they were steaming west from the coast of Ireland, with nothing out ahead of them but ocean.


	12. Chapter Eleven

Chapter Eleven

The ship glowed with the warm creamy light of late afternoon. Jack and Fabrizio stood right at the bow gripping the curved railing. Jack leaned over, looking down fifty feet to where the prow cut the surface like a knife, sending up two glassy sheets of water.

On the bridge, Captain Smith turned from the binnacle to First Officer William Murdoch. "Take her to sea, Mister Murdoch. Let's stretch her legs."

Murdoch moved the engine telegraph lever to All Ahead Full.

In the engine room the telegraph clanged and moved to All Ahead Full. Chief Engineer Bell shouted the command. "All ahead full!"

On the catwalk Thomas Andrews, the shipbuilder, watched carefully as the engineers and greasers scrambled to adjust valves. Towering above them were the twin reciprocating engines, four stories tall, their ten-foot-long connecting rods surging up and down with the turning of the massive crankshafts. The engines thundered like the footfalls of marching giants.

In the boiler rooms the stokers chanted a song as they hurled coal into the roaring furnaces. The "black gang" was covered with sweat and coal dust, their muscles working like part of the machinery as they toiled in the hellish glow.

Underwater the enormous bronze screws chopped through the water, hurling the steamer forward and churning up a vortex of foam that lingered for miles behind the juggernaut ship. Smoke poured from the funnels as the riven water flared higher at the bow as the ship's speed built. Above the prow stood Jack, the wind streaming through his hair.

Captain Smith stepped out of the enclosed bridge onto the wing. He stood with his hands on the rail, looking every bit the storybook picture of a Captain...a great patriarch of the sea. First Officer Murdoch stepped up to him.

"Twenty-one knots, sir!"

"She's got a bone in her teeth now, eh, Mr. Murdoch?"

Smith accepted a cup of tea from Fifth Officer Lowe. He contentedly watched the white V of water hurled outward from the bows like an expression of his own personal power. They were invulnerable, towering over the sea.

At the bow Jack and Fabrizio leaned far over, looking down.

In the glassy bow-wave two dolphins appeared, under the water, running fast just in front of the steel blade of the prow. They did it for the sheer joy and exultation of motion. Jack watched the dolphins and grinned. They breached; jumping clear of the water and then dove back, crisscrossing in front of the bow, and dancing ahead of the juggernaut.

Fabrizio looked forward across the Atlantic, staring into the sun sparkles. "I can see the Statue of Liberty already." He grinned at Jack. "Very small...of course."

Jack grinned, caught up in the sheer joy of the moment. Throwing his hands up in the air, he balanced precariously on the bow rail, shouting exuberantly. "I'm the king of the world!" Framed against the sea, he and Fabrizio shouted joyfully, looking west toward America.

The ship rolled endlessly forward. Her funnels marched past like the pillars of heaven, one by one. The people strolled on the decks and stood at the rail.

And the Titanic moved on, black and severe in her majesty.


	13. Chapter Twelve

Chapter Twelve

"She is the largest moving object ever made by the hand of man in all history..." J. Bruce Ismay, Managing Director of the White Star Line, was extolling the virtues of the ship. "...and our master shipbuilder, Mr. Andrews here, designed her from the keel plates up." He indicated a handsome thirty-nine-year-old Irish gentleman to his right, Thomas Andrews, of Harland and Wolf Shipbuilders.

The group was assembled for lunch on Friday. Ismay was seated with Cal, Rose, Ruth, Molly Brown, and Thomas Andrews in the Palm Court, a beautiful sunny spot enclosed by high arched windows.

Andrews disliked the attention. "Well, I may have knocked her together, but the idea was Mr. Ismay's. He envisioned a steamer so grand in scale, and so luxurious in its appointments, that its supremacy would never be challenged. And here she is..." He slapped the table. "...willed into solid reality."

Molly spoke up. "Why are ships always bein' called 'she'? Is it because men think half the women around have big sterns and should be weighed in tonnage?" They all laughed. "Just another example of the men settin' the rules their way."

The waiter arrived to take orders. Rose lit a cigarette.

"You know I don't like that, Rose," Ruth told her.

"She knows." Cal took the cigarette from her and stubbed it out. To the waiter, he said, "We'll both have the lamb. Rare, with a little mint sauce." To Rose, after the waiter moved on, he asked, "You like lamb, don't you, sweetpea?"

Molly was watching the dynamic between Rose, Cal, and Ruth. "So, you gonna cut her meat for her too, there, Cal?" Turning to Ismay, she asked, "Hey, who came up with the name Titanic? You, Bruce?"

"Yes, actually. I wanted to convey sheer size. And size means stability, luxury...and safety—"

Rose couldn't resist. "Do you know of Dr. Freud? His ideas about the male preoccupation with size might be of particular interest to you, Mr. Ismay."

Andrews choked on his breadstick, suppressing laughter.

Ruth was shocked and embarrassed. "My God, Rose, what's gotten into—"

"Excuse me." Rose stalked away.

Ruth was mortified. "I do apologize."

"She's a pistol, Cal. You sure you can handle her?" Molly was delighted with the whole thing.

Tense but feigning unconcern, Cal replied, "Well, I may have to start minding what she reads from now on."

Ismay was still confused. "Freud? Who is he? Is he a passenger?"

*****

Jack sat on a bench in the sun. Titanic's wake spread out behind him to the horizon. He had his knees pulled up, supporting a leather bound sketching pad, his only valuable possession. With conte crayon he drew rapidly, using sure strokes. An emigrant from Manchester named Cartmell had his three-year-old daughter Cora standing on the lower rung of the rail. She was leaned back against his beer barrel of a stomach, watching the seagulls.

The sketch captured them perfectly, with a great sense of the humanity of the moment. Jack was good. Really good. Fabrizio looked over Jack's shoulder. He nodded appreciatively.

Tommy Ryan, a scowling young Irish emigrant, watched as a crewmember came by, walking three small dogs around the deck. One of them, a black French bulldog, was among the ugliest creatures on the planet.

"That's typical. First class dogs come down here to take a shite."

Jack looked up from his sketch. "That's so we know where we rank in the scheme of things."

"Like we could forget."

Jack glanced across the well deck. At the aft railing of B deck promenade stood Rose, in a long lace dress and white gloves.

Jack was unable to take his eyes off of her. They were across from each other, about sixty feet apart, with the well deck like a valley between them. She on her promontory, he on his much lower one. She stared down at the water. He was riveted by her. She looked like a figure in a romantic novel, sad and isolated.

Fabrizio tapped Tommy and they both looked at Jack gazing at Rose. Fabrizio and Tommy grinned at each other.

Rose turned suddenly and looked right at Jack. He was caught staring, but he didn't look away. She did, but then looked back. Their eyes met across the space of the well deck, across the gulf between worlds.

Jack saw a man, Cal, come up behind her and take her arm. She jerked her arm away. They argued inaudibly. She stormed away, and he went after her, disappearing along the A-deck promenade. Jack stared after her.

"Forget it, boyo. You'd as like have angels fly out o' your arse as get next to the likes o' her." Tommy grinned.


	14. Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Thirteen

Rose sat at the table, flanked by people in heated conversation. Cal and Ruth were laughing together, while on the other side Lady Duff-Gordon was holding forth animatedly. She didn't hear what they were saying. Rose was staring at her plate, barely listening to the inconsequential babble around her.

She saw her whole life as if she'd already lived it...an endless parade of parties and cotillions, yachts and polo matches...always the same narrow people, the same mindless chatter. She felt like she was standing at a great precipice, with no one to pull her back, no one who cared...or even noticed.

Beneath the table Rose's hand held a tiny fork from her crab salad. She poked the crab-fork into the skin of her arm, harder and harder until it drew blood.

*****

Rose walked along the corridor. A steward coming the other way greeted her, and she nodded with a slight smile. She was perfectly composed.

She entered the room. Rose stood in the middle, staring at her reflection in the large vanity mirror. She just stood there.

Then, with a primal, anguished cry, she clawed at her throat, ripping off her pearl necklace, which exploded across the room. In a frenzy she tore at herself, her clothes, her hair...then attacked the room. She flung everything off the dresser and it flew clattering against the wall. She hurled a hand mirror against the vanity, cracking it.

Rose ran along the B deck promenade. She was disheveled, her hair flying. She was crying, her cheeks streaked with tears. But she was also angry. Furious! Shaking with emotions she didn't understand...hatred, self-hatred, desperation. A strolling couple watched her pass, shocked at the emotional display in public.

*****

Jack was kicked back on one of the benches, gazing at the stars blazing gloriously overhead. He was thinking artist thoughts and smoking a cigarette.

Hearing something, he turned as Rose ran up the stairs from the well deck. They were the only two on the stern deck, except for Quartermaster Rowe, twenty feet above them on the docking bridge catwalk. She didn't see Jack in the shadows, and ran right past him.

Rose ran across the deserted fantail. Her breath hitched in an occasional sob, which she suppressed. Rose slammed against the base of the stern flagpole and clung there, panting. She stared out at the black water.

Then she started to climb over the railing. She had to hitch her long dress way up, and climbing was clumsy. Moving methodically, she turned her body and got her heels on the white-painted gunwale, her back to the railing, facing out toward blackness. Sixty feet below her, the massive propellers were churning the Atlantic into white foam, and a ghostly wake trailed off toward the horizon.

Rose stood like a figurehead in reverse. Below her were the huge letters of the name Titanic.

She leaned out, her arms straightening...looking down hypnotized, into the vortex below her. Her dress and hair were lifted by the wind of the ship's movement. The only sound, above the rush of water below, was the flutter and snap of the big Union Jack right above her.

"Don't do it."

She whipped her head around at the sound of Jack's voice. It took a second for her eyes to focus.

"Stay back! Don't come any closer!"

Jack saw the tear tracks on her cheeks in the faint glow from the stern running lights. "Take my hand. I'll pull you back in."

"No! Stay where you are. I mean it. I'll let go."

"No, you won't."

"What do you mean, no I won't? Don't presume to tell me what I will and will not do. You don't know me."

"You would have done it already. Now come on, take my hand."

Rose was confused now. She couldn't see him very well through the tears, so she wiped them with one hand, almost losing her balance. "You're distracting me. Go away."

"I can't. I'm involved now. If you let go I have to jump in after you."

"Don't be absurd. You'll be killed."

He took off his jacket. "I'm a good swimmer." He started unlacing his left shoe.

"The fall alone would kill you."

"It would hurt. I'm not saying it wouldn't. To be honest, I'm a lot more concerned about the water being so cold."

She looked down. The reality factor of what she was doing was sinking in.

"How cold?"

Jack took off his left shoe. "Freezing. Maybe a couple degrees over." He started unlacing his right shoe. "Ever been to Wisconsin?"

Rose was perplexed. "No."

"Well, they have some of the coldest winters around, and I grew up there, near Chippewa Falls. Once, when I was a kid me and my father were ice-fishing out on Lake Wissota...ice-fishing's where you chop a hole in the—"

"I know what ice fishing is!"

"Sorry. Just...you look like kind of an indoor girl. Anyway, I went through some thin ice, and I'm tellin' you, water that cold...like that right down there...it hits you like a thousand knives stabbing all over your body. You can't breath, you can't think...least not about anything but the pain." He took off his other shoe. "Which is why I'm not looking forward to jumping in after you. But like I said, I don't see a choice." He smiled. "I guess I'm kind of hoping you'll come back over the rail and get me off the hook here."

"You're crazy."

"That's what everybody says. But with all due respect, miss, I'm not the one hanging off the back of a ship here." He slid one step closer, like moving up on a spooked horse. "Come on. You don't want to do this. Give me your hand."

Rose stared at this madman for a long time. She looked at his eyes and they somehow suddenly seemed to fill her universe. "All right."

She unfastened one hand from the rail and reached it around toward him. He reached out to take it, firmly.

"I'm Jack Dawson."

Rose's voice quavered. "I'm Rose DeWitt Bukater."

He smiled. "I'm gonna have to get you to write that one down."

Rose started to turn. Now that she had decided to live, the height was terrifying. She was overcome by vertigo as she shifted her footing, turning to face the ship. As she started to climb, her dress got in the way, and one foot slipped off the edge of the deck.

She plunged, letting out a piercing shriek. Jack, gripping her hand, was jerked toward the rail. Rose barely grabbed a lower rail with her free hand.

Quartermaster Rowe, up on the docking bridge, heard the scream and headed for the ladder.

"Help! Please help me!" Rose was screaming in terror.

"I've got you. I won't let go."

Jack held her hand with all his strength, bracing himself on the railing with his other hand. Rose tried to get some kind of a foothold on the smooth hull. Jack tried to lift her bodily over the railing. She couldn't get any footing in her dress and evening shoes, and she slipped back. Rose screamed again.

Jack, awkwardly clutching Rose by whatever he could get a grip on as she flailed, got her over the railing. They fell together onto the deck in a tangled heap, spinning in such a way that Jack wound up slightly on top of her.

Rowe slid down the ladder from the docking bridge like it was a fire drill and sprinted across the fantail.

"Here, what's all this?"

Rowe ran up and pulled Jack off of Rose, revealing her disheveled and sobbing on the deck. Her dress was torn, and the hem was pushed up above her knees, showing one ripped stocking. He looked at Jack, the shaggy steerage man with his jacket off, and the first class lady clearly in distress, and started drawing conclusions. Two seamen chugged across the deck to join them.

Rowe shouted at Jack. "Here you, stand back! Don't move an inch!" To the seamen, he said, "Fetch the Master-at-Arms."


	15. Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fourteen

A few minutes later, Jack was being detained by the burly Master-at-Arms, the closest thing to a cop on board. He was handcuffing Jack. Cal was right in front of Jack, and furious. He had obviously just rushed out there with Lovejoy and another man, and none of them had coats over their black tie evening dress. The other man was Colonel Archibald Gracie, a mustachioed blowhard who still had his brandy snifter. He offered it to Rose, who was hunched over crying on a bench nearby, but she waved it away. Cal was more concerned with Jack. He grabbed him by the lapels.

"What made you think you could put your hands on my fiancée? Look at me, you filth! What did you think you were doing?"

Rose intervened. "Cal, stop! It was an accident."

"An accident?"

"It was...stupid really. I was leaning over and I slipped." Rose looked at Jack, getting eye contact. "I was leaning way over, to see the...ah...propellers. And I slipped and I would have gone overboard...and Mr. Dawson here saved me and he almost went over himself."

"You wanted to see the propellers?"

Gracie shook his head. "Women and machinery do not mix."

The Master-at-Arms spoke to Jack. "Was that the way of it?"

Rose was begging him with her eyes not to say what really happened.

"Uh-huh. That was pretty much it."

He looked at Rose a moment longer. Now they had a secret together.

"Well! The boy's a hero then. Good for you son, well done!" He turned to Cal. "So it's all's well and back to our brandy, eh?"

Jack was uncuffed. Cal got Rose to her feet and moving.

Cal rubbed her arms. "Let's get you in. You're freezing."

Cal was leaving without a second thought for Jack.

Gracie spoke to him in a low voice. "Ah...perhaps a little something for the boy?"

"Oh, right. Mr. Lovejoy. A twenty should do it."

Rose was shocked. "Is that the going rate for saving the woman you love?"

"Rose is displeased. Mmm...what to do?" Cal turned back to Jack. He appraised him condescendingly...a steerage ruffian, unwashed and ill-mannered. "I know." He spoke to Jack. "Perhaps you could join us for dinner tomorrow, to regale our group with your heroic tale?"

Jack looked straight at Rose. "Sure. Count me in."

"Good. Settled then." Cal turned to go, putting a protective arm around Rose. He leaned close to Gracie as they walked away. "This should be amusing."

Jack spoke to Lovejoy as he passed him. "Can I bum a cigarette?"

Lovejoy smoothly drew a silver cigarette case from his jacket and snapped it open. Jack took a cigarette, then another, popping it behind his ear for later. Lovejoy lit Jack's cigarette.

"You'll want to tie those." Jack looked at his shoes. "Interesting that the young lady slipped so mighty all of a sudden and you still had time to take off your jacket and shoes. Mmm?"

Lovejoy's expression was bland, but his eyes were cold. He turned away to join his group.


	16. Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Fifteen

As she undressed for bed, Rose saw Cal standing in her doorway, reflected in the cracked mirror of her vanity. He came toward her.

Cal spoke to her in an unexpectedly tender voice. "I know you've been melancholy, and I don't pretend to know why."

From behind his back he handed her a large, black velvet jewel case. She took it numbly.

"I intended to save this till the engagement gala next week. But I thought…tonight, perhaps a reminder of my feelings for you..."

Rose slowly opened the box. Inside was the necklace...the Heart of the Ocean in all its glory. It was huge...a malevolent blue stone glittering with an infinity of scalpel-like inner reflections.

"My God...Cal. Is it a—"

"Diamond? Yes, it is. Fifty-six carats, to be exact."

He took the necklace and placed it around her neck. He turned her to the mirror, standing behind her.

"It was once worn by Louis the Sixteenth. They call it Le Coeur de la Mer, the—"

"The Heart of the Ocean. Cal, it's...it's overwhelming."

He gazed at the image of the two of them in the mirror.

"It's for royalty. And we are royalty."

His fingers caressed her neck and throat. He seemed himself to be disarmed by Rose's elegance and beauty. His emotion was, for the first time, unguarded.

"There's nothing I couldn't give you. There's nothing I'd deny you, if you would not deny me. Open your heart to me, Rose."

Of course, his gift was only to reflect light back onto himself, to illuminate the greatness that was Caledon Hockley. It was a cold stone...a heart of ice.


	17. Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Sixteen

With time, the wrinkled, weathered landscape of age had appeared around Rose's eyes. But the eyes themselves were the same.

"After all these years, I can still feel it closing around my throat like a dog collar. I can still feel its weight. If you could have felt it, not just seen it..."

"Well, that's the general idea, my dear." Lovett was getting impatient.

"So let me get this right. You were gonna kill yourself by jumping off the Titanic?" Bodine guffawed. "That's great!"

Lovett spoke warningly. "Lewis..."

But Rose laughed with Bodine.

Bodine was still laughing. "All you had to do was wait two days!"

Lovett, standing out of Rose's sight line, checked his watch. Hours had passed. This process was taking too long.

"Rose, tell us more about the diamond. What did Hockley do with it after that?"

"I'm afraid I'm feeling a little tired, Mr. Lovett."

Lizzy picked up the cue and started to wheel her out.

"Wait! Can you give us something to go on here? Like who had access to the safe? What about this Lovejoy guy? The valet. Did he have the combination?"

"That's enough." Lizzy spoke sharply.

Lizzy took Rose out. Rose's old hand reappeared at the doorway in a frail wave good-bye.

*****

As the big hydraulic jib swung one of the Mir subs out over the water, Lovett walked as he talked with Bobby Buell, the partners' rep. They wove among deck cranes, launch crew, and sub maintenance guys.

"The partners are pissed." Buell looked at Lovett seriously.

"Bobby, buy me time. I need time."

"We're running thirty thousand a day, and we're six days over. I'm telling you what they're telling me. The hand is on the plug. It's starting to pull."

"Well, you tell the hand I need another two days! Bobby, Bobby, Bobby...we're close! I smell it. I smell ice. She had the diamond on...now we just have to find out where it wound up. I just gotta work her a bit more. Okay?"

Brock turned and saw Lizzy standing behind him. She had overheard the last part of his conversation with Buell. He went to her and hustled her away from Buell, toward a quiet spot on the deck. "Hey, Lizzy. I need to talk to you for a second."

"Don't you mean work me?"

"Look, I'm running out of time. I need your help."

"I'm not going to help you browbeat my hundred and one year old grandmother. I came down here to tell you to back off."

Brock spoke to her with undisguised desperation. "Lizzy...you gotta understand something. I've bet it all to find the Heart of the Ocean. I've got all my dough tied up in this thing. My wife even divorced me over this hunt. I need what's locked inside your grandma's memory." He held out his hand. "You see this? Right here?"

She looked at his hand, palm up. Empty. Cupped, as if around an imaginary shape. "What?"

"That's the shape my hand's gonna be when I hold that thing. You understand? I'm not leaving here without it."

"Look, Brock, she's going to do this her way, in her own time. Don't forget, she contacted you. She's out here for her own reasons, God knows what they are."

"Maybe she wants to make peace with the past."

"What past? She has never once, not once, ever said a word about being on the Titanic until two days ago."

"Then we're all meeting your grandmother for the first time."

Lizzy looked at him hard. "You think she was really there?"

"Oh, yeah. Yeah, I'm a believer. She was there."

*****

Bodine started the tape recorder. Rose was gazing at the screen, seeing the live feed from the wreck—Snoop Dog was moving along the starboard side of the hull, heading aft. The rectangular windows of A deck marched past on the right.

"The next day, Saturday, I remember thinking how the sunlight felt." And the story began again.


	18. Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Seventeen

Rose walked into the sunlight on the enclosed promenade. She was stunningly dressed and walking with purpose. She felt as if she hadn't felt the sun in years.

It was Saturday, April 13, 1912. Rose unlatched the gate to go down into third class. The steerage men on the deck stopped what they were doing and stared at her.

*****

The third class general room was the social center of steerage life. It was stark by comparison to the opulence of first class, but was a loud, boisterous place. There were mothers with babies, kids running between the benches yelling in several languages and being scolded in several more. There were old women yelling, men playing chess, girls doing needlepoint and reading dime novels. There was even an upright piano and Tommy Ryan was noodling around on it.

Three boys, shrieking and shouting, were scrambling around chasing a rat under the benches, trying to whomp it with a shoe and causing general havoc. Jack was playing with three-year-old Cora Cartmell, drawing funny faces together in his sketchbook.

Fabrizio was struggling to get a conversation going with an attractive Norwegian girl, Helga Dahl, sitting with her family at a table across the room.

"No Italian? Some little English?"

"No, no. Norwegian. Only."

Helga's eye was caught by something. Fabrizio looked, did a double take...and Jack, curious, followed their gaze to see Rose coming toward them. The activity in the room stopped...a hush fell. Rose felt suddenly self-conscious as the steerage passengers stared openly at this princess, some with resentment, others with awe. She spotted Jack and gave a little smile, walking straight to him. He rose to meet her, smiling.

"Hello, Jack."

Fabrizio and Tommy were floored. It was like the slipper fitting Cinderella.

"Hello again."

"Could I speak to you in private?"

"Uh, yes. Of course. After you."

He motioned her ahead and followed. Jack glanced over his shoulder, one eyebrow raised, as he walked with her, leaving a stunned silence.


	19. Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Eighteen

Jack and Rose walked side by side. They passed people reading and talking in steamer chairs, some of whom glanced curiously at the mismatched couple.

"So I've been on my own since I was fifteen, since my folks died. I have no brothers and sisters, or close kin in that part of the country, no reason to stay, so I lit out an' never been back since."

"So you don't have a home of any kind?"

"No, I'm like a tumbleweed, blowin' in the wind. Listen, Rose, we've walked about a mile around this boat deck and we've chewed over how I grew up and how great the weather's been, but I reckon that's not why you came to talk to me."

There was an awkward pause.

"Mr. Dawson, I—"

"Jack."

"Jack...I feel like such an idiot. It took me all morning to get up the nerve to face you."

He looked her in the eye.

Rose took a deep breath. "I...I want to thank you for what you did. Not just for...for pulling me back. But for your discretion."

"You're welcome. Rose."

"Look, I know what you must be thinking! Poor little rich girl. What does she know about misery?"

"That's not what I was thinking. What I was thinking was...what could have happened to hurt this girl so much she thought she had no way out?"

"I don't...you see, it wasn't just one thing. It was everything. It was my whole world and all the people in it. And the inertia of my life, plunging ahead and me powerless to stop it."

She held up her engagement ring.

"God, look at that thing! You would have gone straight to the bottom."

"Five hundred invitations have gone out. All of Philadelphia society will be there. And all the while I feel like I'm standing in the middle of a crowded room, screaming at the top of my lungs, and no one even looks up." She continued in a rush. "Last night I felt so trapped. I just had to get away...just run and run and run...and then I was at the back rail and there was no more ship...even the Titanic wasn't big enough. And before I'd really thought about it, I was over the rail. I was so furious. I'll teach them not to listen. They'll be sorry."

"They'll be sorry. 'Course, you'll be dead."

Rose was embarrassed. "Oh God, I am such an utter fool."

"So you're stuck on a train you can't get off 'cause you're marryin' this fellow. So don't marry him."

"If only it were that simple."

"It is that simple."

"No, Jack. No, no, no, no. I'm sorry, I can't expect you to understand how things work in my life."

"Do you love him?"

Rose looked at him in shock. "Pardon me?"

"Do you love him?"

She was flustered by his directness. "You're being very rude. You shouldn't be asking me this."

"Well, it's simple. Do you love him or not?"

"This is not a suitable conversation."

"Why can't you just answer the question?"

"This is absurd. You don't know me and I don't know you and we are not having this conversation at all. You are rude and uncouth and presumptuous and I'm leaving now. Jack...Mr. Dawson...it's been a pleasure. I sought you out to thank you and now I have thanked you—"

"And you've insulted me—"

"Well, you deserved it."

"Right. Right." He grinned. "I thought you were leaving."

Rose started to laugh in spite of herself. "I am. You are so annoying. Wait! I don't have to leave. This is my part of the ship. You leave!"

"Well, well, well. Now who's being rude?" Jack grinned at her.

Rose's mouth dropped open. "What's that stupid thing you're carrying around?" The question was rhetorical because she had already grabbed the sketchbook. She opened it. "What are you, an artist or something?"

Each of Jack's sketches was an expressive little bit of humanity: an old woman's hands, a sleeping man, a father and daughter at the rail. The faces were luminous and alive. His book was a celebration of the human condition.

"Well, these are rather good." She looked at some more. "They're very good, actually."

"They didn't think too much of 'em in old Paris."

"Paris? You do get around. For a...a person of...well...limited means."

"Go on, go on. A poor guy. You can say it."

Some loose sketches fell out and were taken by the wind. Jack scrambled after them...catching two, but the rest were gone, over the rail.

"Oh, no! Oh, I'm so sorry. Truly!"

"Don't worry about it. Plenty more where they came from."

He snapped his wrist, shaking his drawing hand in a flourish.

"I just seem to spew 'em out. Besides, they're not worth a damn anyway."

For emphasis he threw away the two he caught. They sailed off.

Rose laughed. "You're deranged!"

She went back to the book, turning a page.

"Well, well...well."

She had come upon a series of nudes. The languid beauty he had created transfixed Rose. His nudes were soulful, real, with expressive hands and eyes. They felt more like portraits than studies of the human form...almost uncomfortably intimate. Rose blushed, raising the book as some strollers went by.

Trying to be very adult, she asked, "And these were drawn from life?"

"Yes. That's one of the good things about Paris. Lots of girls willing to take their clothes off."

She studied one drawing in particular, the girl posed half in sunlight, half in shadow. Her hands lay at her chin, one furled and one open like a flower, languid and graceful. The drawing was like an Alfred Steiglitz print of Georgia O'Keefe.

"You liked this woman. Some of her soul is in this one. You used her several times."

"She had beautiful hands, see?"

Rose smiled. "I think you must have had a love affair with her..."

Jack laughed. "No, no! Just with her hands. She was a one-legged prostitute." He showed her a full body pose. "See? Good sense of humor though, huh?" He showed her a sketch of a sad, dumpy old woman. "And this lady here...we used to see her every night in this bar, wearing every piece of jewelry she owned, waiting for her lost love. We called her Madame Bijoux. Her clothes were all moth eaten."

"You have a gift, Jack. You do." She looked up from the drawings. "You see people."

"I see you."

There it was. That piercing gaze again.

"And...?" She thought he meant as an artist's subject...now she was playful but he was serious again.

"You wouldn't have jumped."

*****

Ruth was having tea with Noel Lucy Martha Dyer-Edwardes, the Countess of Rothes, a thirty-five-ish English blue blood with patrician features. Ruth saw someone coming across the room and lowered her voice.

"Oh, no. That vulgar Brown woman is coming this way. Get up, quickly, before she sits with us."

Molly Brown walked up, greeting them cheerfully as they were rising. "Hello girls, I was hoping I'd catch you at tea."

"We're awfully sorry you missed it. The Countess and I are just off to take the air on the boat deck."

"That sounds great. Let's go. I need to catch up on the gossip."

Ruth gritted her teeth as the three of them headed for the Grand Staircase to go up. As they crossed the room, they passed Bruce Ismay and Captain Smith at another table.

"So you've not lit the last four boilers then?"

"No, but we're making excellent time."

Ismay looked at Smith impatiently. "Captain, the press knows the size of Titanic, let them marvel at her speed too. We must give them something new to print. And the maiden voyage of Titanic must make headlines!"

"I prefer not to push the engines until they've been properly run in."

"Of course I leave it to your good offices to decide what's best, but what a glorious end to your last crossing if we get into New York Tuesday night and surprise them all." Ismay slapped his hand on the table. "Retire with a bang, eh, E.J.?"

After a moment, Smith nodded, stiffly.

*****

Rose and Jack strolled aft, past people lounging on deck chairs in the slanting late-afternoon light. Stewards scurried to serve tea or hot cocoa.

Rose chattered on, girlish and excited. "You know, my dream has always been to just chuck it all and become an artist...living in a garret, poor but free!"

Jack laughed. "You wouldn't last two days. There's no hot water, and hardly ever any caviar."

In a flash, Rose was angry. "Listen buster...I hate caviar! And I'm tired of people dismissing my dreams with a chuckle and a pat on the head."

"I'm sorry. Really...I am."

"Well, all right. There's something in me Jack. I feel it. I don't know what it is, whether I should be an artist, or, I don't know...a dancer. Like Isadora Duncan...a wild pagan spirit..."

She leapt forward, landed deftly and whirled like a dervish. Then she saw something ahead and her face lit up.

"...or a moving picture actress!"

She took his hand and ran, pulling him along the deck toward Daniel and Mary Marvin. Daniel was cranking the big wooden movie camera as she posed stiffly at the rail.

"You're sad. Sad, sad, sad. You've left your lover on the shore. You may never see him again. Try to be sadder, darling."

Suddenly Rose shot into the shot and struck a theatrical pose at the rail next to Mary. Mary burst out laughing. Rose pulled Jack into the picture and made him pose.

Marvin grinned and started yelling and gesturing.

Rose posed tragically at the rail, the back of her hand to her forehead.

Jack lay on a deck chair, pretending to be a Pasha, the two girls pantomiming fanning him like slave girls.

Jack, on his knees, pleaded with his hands clasped while Rose, standing, turned her head in bored disdain.

Rose cranked the camera, while Daniel and Jack had a western shoot-out. Jack won and leered into the lens, twirling an air mustache like Snidely Whiplash.

*****

Painted with orange light, Jack and Rose leaned on the A-deck rail aft, shoulder-to-shoulder. The ship's lights came on.

It was a magical moment...perfect.

"So then what, Mr. Wandering Jack?"

"Well, then logging got to be too much like work, so I went down to Los Angeles to the pier in Santa Monica. That's a swell place; they even have a roller coaster. I sketched portraits there for ten cents a piece."

"A whole ten cents?"

Jack didn't get it. "Yeah, it was great money...I could make a dollar a day, sometimes. But only in summer. When it got cold, I decided to go to Paris and see what the real artists were doing."

Rose looked at the dusk sky. "Why can't I be like you, Jack? Just head out for the horizon whenever I feel like it." She turned to him. "Say we'll go there, sometime...to that pier...even if we only ever just talk about it."

"All right, we're going. We'll drink cheap beer and go on the roller coaster until we throw up and we'll ride horses on the beach...right in the surf...but you have to ride like a cowboy, none of that sidesaddle stuff."

"You mean one leg on each side? Scandalous! Can you show me?"

"Sure. If you like."

Rose smiled at him. "I think I would." She looked at the horizon. "And teach me to spit, too. Like a man. Why should only men be able to spit? It's unfair."

"They didn't teach you that in finishing school? Here, it's easy. Watch closely."

He spat. It arced out over the water.

"Your turn."

Rose screwed up her mouth and spat, a pathetic little bit of foamy spittle, which mostly ran down her chin before falling off into the water.

"No, that was pitiful. Here, like this...you hawk it down...HHHNNNK!...then roll it on your tongue, up to the front, like this, then a big breath and PLOOW!! You see the range on that thing?"

She went through the steps. Hawked it down, etc. He coached her through it while doing the steps himself. She let fly. So did he. Two comets of gob flew out over the water.

"That was great!"

Rose turned to him, her face alight. Suddenly, she blanched. He saw her expression and turned.

Ruth, the Countess of Rothes, and Molly Brown had been watching them hawking lugees. Rose became instantly composed.

"Mother, may I introduce Jack Dawson."

"Charmed, I'm sure."

Jack had a little spit running down his chin. He didn't know it. Molly Brown was grinning. As Rose proceeded with the introductions, Molly pointed it out to Jack.

The others were gracious and curious about the man who'd saved Rose's life. But her mother looked at him like an insect. A dangerous insect, which must be squashed quickly.

"Well, Jack, it sounds like you're a good man to have around in a sticky spot—"

They all jumped as a bugler sounded the meal call right behind them.

"Why do they insist on announcing dinner like a damn cavalry charge?"

"Shall we go dress, Mother?" Rose looked at Jack over her shoulder. "See you at dinner, Jack."

As they walked away, Ruth scolded, "Rose, look at you...out in the sun with no hat. Honestly!"

The Countess left with Ruth and Rose, leaving Jack and Molly alone on deck.

"Son, do you have the slightest comprehension of what you're doing?"

"Not really."

"Well, you're about to go into the snake pit. I hope you're ready. What are you planning to wear?"

Jack looked down at his clothes, then back up at her. He hadn't thought about that.

"I figured."


	20. Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Nineteen

Men's suits and jackets and formal wear were strewn all over the place. Molly was having a fine time. Jack was dressed, except for his jacket, and Molly was tying his bow tie.

"Don't feel bad about it. My son still can't tie one of these damn things after twenty years. There you go."

She picked up a jacket off the bed and handed it to him. Jack went into the bathroom to put it on. Molly started picking up the stuff off the bed.

"I gotta buy everything in three sizes 'cause I never know how much he's been eating while I'm away."

She turned and saw him.

"My, my, my...you shine up like a new penny."


	21. Chapter Twenty

Chapter Twenty

In the west, the sky was purple, shot with orange. Strains of classical music drifted through the air. Jack walked along the deck. He looked dashing in his borrowed white-tie outfit, right down to his pearl studs.

A steward bowed and smartly opened the door to the First Class Entrance. "Good evening, sir."

Jack played the role smoothly. He nodded with just the right degree of disdain.

Jack stepped in, and his breath was taken away by the splendor spread out before him. Overhead was the enormous glass dome, with a crystal chandelier at its center. Sweeping down six stories was the First Class Grand Staircase, the epitome of the opulent naval architecture of the time.

And the people: the women in their floor-length dresses, elaborate hairstyles, and abundant jewelry...the gentlemen in evening dress, standing with one hand at the small of the back, talking quietly.

Jack descended to A deck. Several men nodded a perfunctory greeting. He nodded back, keeping it simple. He felt like a spy.

Cal came down the stairs, with Ruth on his arm, covered in jewelry. They both walked right past Jack, neither one recognizing him. Cal nodded at him, one gent to another. But Jack barely had time to be amused. Because just behind Cal and Ruth on the stairs was Rose, a vision in red and black, her low-cut dress showing off her neck and shoulders, her arms sheathed in white gloves that came well above the elbow. Jack was hypnotized by her beauty.

Rose approached Jack. He imitated the gentlemen's stance, hand behind his back. She extended her gloved hand and he took it, kissing the backs of her fingers. Rose flushed, beaming noticeably. She couldn't take her eyes off him.

"I saw that in a nickelodeon once, and I always wanted to do it."

Rose laughed softly, then tapped Cal's arm to get his attention. "Cal, surely you remember Mr. Dawson."

Cal was caught off guard. "Dawson! I didn't recognize you." He studied him. "Amazing! You could almost pass for a gentleman."

Jack raised an eyebrow. "Almost."

The party descended to dinner in the reception room on D deck. They encountered Molly Brown, looking good in a beaded dress in her own busty, broad-shouldered way. Molly grinned when she saw Jack. As they were going into the dining saloon, she walked next to him, speaking low.

"Ain't nothing' to it, is there, Jack?"

"Yeah, you just dress like a pallbearer and keep your nose up."

"Remember, the only thing they respect is money, so just act like you've got a lot of it and you're in the club."

As they entered the swirling throng, Rose leaned close to him, pointing out several notables.

"There's the Countess of Rothes. And that's John Jacob Astor...the richest man on the ship. His little wifey there, Madeleine, is my age and in a delicate condition. See how she's trying to hide it? Quite the scandal." She nodded toward a couple. "And over there, that's Sir Cosmo and Lucille, Lady Duff-Gordon. She designs naughty lingerie, among her many talents. Very popular with the royals."

Cal became engrossed in a conversation with Cosmo Duff-Gordon and Colonel Gracie, while Ruth, the Countess, and Lucille discussed fashion. Rose pivoted Jack smoothly, to show him another couple, dressed impeccably.

"And that's Benjamin Guggenheim and his mistress, Madame Aubert. Mrs. Guggenheim is at home with the children, of course."

Cal, meanwhile, was accepting the praise of his male counterparts, who were looking at Rose like a prize show horse.

"Hockley, she is splendid."

"Thank you." Cal beamed as though he had been complimented.

"Cal's a lucky man. I know him well, and it can only be luck."

Ruth stepped over, hearing the last. She took Cal's arm, somewhat coquettishly. "How can you say that, Colonel? Caledon Hockley is a great catch."

The entourage strolled toward the dining saloon, where they ran into the Astors going through the ornate double doors.

"J.J., Madeleine, I'd like you to meet Jack Dawson."

Astor shook Jack's hand. "Good to meet you, Jack. Are you of the Boston Dawsons?"

Jack took a deep breath, refusing to hide his real background. "No, the Chippewa Falls Dawsons, actually."

J.J. nodded as if he'd heard of them, then looked puzzled. Madeleine Astor appraised Jack and whispered girlishly to Rose. "It's a pity we're both spoken for, isn't it?"

The dining saloon was like a ballroom at the palace, alive and lit by a constellation of chandeliers, full of elegantly dressed people and beautiful music from bandleader Wallace Hartley's small orchestra. Rose and Jack entered and moved across the room to their table, Cal and Ruth beside them.

Jack was nervous, but he never faltered. They assumed he was one of them...heir to a railroad fortune...new money, obviously, but still a member of the club. Ruth, of course, could always be counted upon to break the illusion.

"Tell us of the accommodations in steerage, Mr. Dawson. I hear they're quite good on this ship."

Jack was seated opposite Rose, who was flanked by Cal and Thomas Andrews. Also at the table were Molly Brown, Ismay, Colonel Gracie, the Countess, Guggenheim, Madame Aubert, and the Astors.

"The best I've seen, ma'am. Hardly any rats."

Rose motioned surreptitiously for Jack to take his napkin off his plate.

"Mr. Dawson is joining us from third class. He was of some assistance to my fiancée last night." Cal spoke to Jack as if to a child. "This is foie gras. It's goose liver." He searched through his pockets for a match to light a cigarette.

Jack pulled out his own matches and tossed them to him. "Here you go, Cal."

Whispers were exchanged. Jack became the subject of furtive glances. Now they all felt terribly liberal and dangerous.

Guggenheim spoke in a low voice to Madame Aubert. "What is Hockley hoping to prove, bringing this...bohemian...up here?"

A waiter spoke to Jack. "How do you take your caviar, sir?"

Cal answered for him. "Just a soupcon of lemon..." He spoke to Jack, smiling. "...it improves the flavor with champagne."

Jack spoke to the waiter. "No caviar for me, thanks." He turned to Cal. "Never did like it much."

He looked at Rose, pokerfaced, and she smiled.

"And where exactly do you live, Mr. Dawson?" Ruth asked, a haughty edge to her voice.

"Well, right now my address is the RMS Titanic. After that, I'm on God's good humor."

Salad was served. Jack reached for the fish fork. Rose gave him a look and picked up the salad fork, prompting him with her eyes. He changed forks.

"You find that sort of rootless existence appealing, do you?" Ruth persisted.

"Well...it's a big world, and I want to see it all before I go. My father was always talkin' about goin' to see the ocean. He died in the town he was born in, and never did see it. You can't wait around, because you never know what hand you're going to get dealt next. See, my folks died in a fire when I was fifteen, and I've been on the road since. Somethin' like that teaches you to take life as it comes at you. To make each day count."

Molly Brown raised her glass in salute. "Well said, Jack."

Colonel Gracie raised his glass. "Here, here."

Rose raised her glass, looking at Jack. "To making it count."

Ruth, annoyed that Jack had scored a point, pressed him further. "How is it you have the means to travel, Mr. Dawson?"

"I work my way from place to place. Tramp steamers and such. I won my ticket on Titanic here in a lucky hand at poker." He glanced at Rose. "A very lucky hand."

"All life is a game of luck." Colonel Gracie nodded in agreement.

"A real man makes his own luck, Archie." Cal spoke stiffly.

Rose noticed that Thomas Andrews, sitting next to her, was writing in his notebook, completely ignoring the conversation.

"Mr. Andrews, what are you doing? I see you everywhere writing in this little book." She grabbed it and read, "Increase number of screws in hat hooks from two to three. You built the biggest ship in the world and this preoccupies you?"

Andrews smiled sheepishly.

"He knows every rivet in her, don't you, Thomas?" Ismay was as proud of the ship as Andrews.

"All three million of them."

"His blood and soul are in this ship. She may be mine on paper, but in the eyes of God she belongs to Thomas Andrews."

"Your ship is a wonder, Mr. Andrews. Truly." Rose gave him a bright smile.

"Thank you, Rose." Andrews had come under Rose's spell.

*****

Dessert had been served and a waiter arrived with cigars in a humidor on a wheeled cart. The men started clipping ends and lighting.

Rose spoke to Jack in a low voice. "Next it'll be brandies in the Smoking Room."

Gracie rose. "Well, join me for a brandy, gentlemen?"

Rose whispered to Jack again, smirking. "Now they'll retreat into a cloud of smoke and congratulate each other on being masters of the universe."

"Joining us, Dawson? You don't want to stay out here with the women, do you?"

Actually, he did, but...

"No, thanks. I'm heading back."

"Probably best. It'll be all business and politics, that sort of thing. Wouldn't interest you. Good of you to come." Cal tossed back Jack's matchbox, and then he and the other gentlemen left the room.

"Jack, must you go?" Rose was reluctant to see the evening end.

"Time for me to go row with the other slaves." He leaned over to take her hand and slipped a tiny, folded note into her palm.

Ruth, scowling, watched him walk away across the enormous room. Rose surreptitiously opened the note below table level. It read:

_Make it count. Meet me at the clock._

*****

Rose crossed the A deck foyer, sighting Jack at the landing above. Overhead was the crystal dome. Jack had his back to her, studying the ornate clock with its carved figures of Honor and Glory. It softly struck the hour.

Rose went up the sweeping staircase toward him. He turned, saw her...smiled.

"Want to go to a real party?"


	22. Chapter Twenty One

Chapter Twenty-One

The third class general room was crowded and alive with music, laughter, and raucous carrying on. An ad hoc band was gathered near the upright piano, honking out lively stomping music on fiddle, accordion, and tambourine. People of all ages were dancing, drinking beer and wine, smoking, laughing, even brawling.

Tommy handed Rose a pint of stout and she hoisted it. Jack meanwhile danced with three-year-old Cora Cartmell, or tried to, with her standing on his feet. As the tune ended, Jack leaned down to the little girl.

"I'm going to dance with her now. All right?" He gave her a smile. "You're still my best girl, Cora."

Cora scampered off. Rose and Jack faced each other. She was trembling as he took her right hand in his left. His other hand slid to the small of her back. It was an electrifying moment.

"I don't know the steps."

"Just move with me. Don't think."

The music started and they were off. A little awkward at first, she started to get into it. She grinned at Jack as she started to get the rhythm of the steps.

"Wait...stop!"

She bent down, pulling off her high-heeled shoes, and flung them to Tommy. Then she grabbed Jack and they plunged back into the fray, dancing faster as the music sped up.

The scene was rowdy and rollicking. A table got knocked over as a drunk crashed into it. And in the middle of it...Rose danced with Jack in her stocking feet. The steps were fast and she shone with sweat. A space opened around them, and people watched them, clapping as the band played faster and faster.

For Fabrizio and Helga, dancing had obviated the need for a common language. He whirled her, and then she responded by whirling him...Fabrizio's eyes went wide when he realized she was stronger than he was.

The tune ended in a mad rush. Jack stepped away from Rose with a flourish, allowing her to take a bow. Exhilarated and slightly tipsy, she did a graceful ballet plie, feet turned out perfectly. Everyone laughed and applauded. Rose was a hit with the steerage folks, who had never had a lady party with them.

They moved to a table, flushed and sweaty. Rose grabbed Fabrizio's cigarette and took a big drag. She was feeling cocky. Fabrizio was grinning, holding hands with Helga.

"How you two doin'?"

"I don't know what she's say, she don't know what I say, so we get along fine."

Tommy walked up with a pint for each of them. Rose chugged hers, showing off.

"You think a first class girl can't drink?"

Everybody else was dancing again, and Bjorn Gundersen crashed into Tommy, who sloshed his beer over Rose's dress. She laughed, not caring. But Tommy lunged, grabbing Bjorn and wheeling him around.

"You stupid bastard!"

Bjorn came around, his fists coming up...and Jack leapt into the middle of it, pushing them apart.

"Boys, boys! Did I ever tell you the one about the Swede and the Irishman goin' to the whorehouse?"

Tommy stood there, all piss and vinegar, chest puffed up. Then he grinned and clapped Bjorn on the shoulder.

"So, you think you're big tough men? Let's see you do this."

In her stocking feet she assumed a ballet stance, arms raised, and went up on point, taking her entire weight on the tips of her toes. The guys gaped at her incredible muscle control. She came back down, and then her face screwed up in pain. She grabbed one foot, hopping around.

"Ow! I haven't done that in years."

Jack caught her as she lost her balance, and everyone cracked up.

The door to the well deck was open a few inches as Lovejoy watched through the gap. He saw Jack holding Rose, both of them laughing.

Lovejoy closed the door.


	23. Chapter Twenty Two

Chapter Twenty-Two

The stars blazed overhead, so bright and clear they could see the Milky Way. Rose and Jack walked along the row of lifeboats. Still giddy from the party, they were singing a popular song, "Come Josephine in My Flying Machine."

_Come Josephine in my flying machine  
And it's up she goes!  
Up she goes!  
In the air she goes.  
Where?  
There she goes!_

They fumbled the words and broke down laughing. They had reached the First Class Entrance, but didn't go straight in, not wanting the evening to end. Through the doors the sound of the ship's orchestra wafted gently. Rose grabbed a davit and leaned back, staring at the cosmos.

"Look. Isn't it magnificent? So grand and endless." She went to the rail and leaned on it. "They're such small people, Jack...my crowd. They think they're giants on the earth, but they're not even dust in God's eye. They live inside this little tiny champagne bubble...and someday the bubble's going to burst."

He leaned at the rail next to her, his hand just touching hers. It was the slightest contact imaginable, and all either one of them could feel was that square inch of skin where their hands were touching.

"You're not one of them. There's been a mistake."

"A mistake?"

"Uh-huh. You got mailed to the wrong address."

Rose laughed. "I did, didn't I?" She pointed suddenly. "Look! A shooting star!"

"That was a long one. My father used to say that whenever you saw one, it was a soul going to heaven."

"I like that. Aren't we supposed to wish on it?"

Jack looked at her, and found that they were suddenly very close together. It would be so easy to move another couple of inches, to kiss her. Rose seemed to be thinking the same thing.

"What would you wish for?" Jack asked her.

After a moment, Rose pulled back.

"Something I can't have." She smiled sadly. "Good night, Jack. And thank you." She left the rail and hurried through the First Class Entrance.

"Rose!"

But the door banged shut, and she was gone. Back to her world.


	24. Chapter Twenty Three

Chapter Twenty-Three  
Sunday, April 14, 1912

It was a bright, clear day. Sunlight splashed across the promenade. Rose and Cal were having breakfast in silence. The tension was palpable. Trudy Bolt, in her maid's uniform, poured the coffee and went inside.

"I had hoped you would come to me last night." Cal spoke quietly.

"I was tired." Rose tensed, looking at him.

"Yes. Your exertions below decks were no doubt exhausting."

Rose stiffened. "I see you had that undertaker of a manservant follow me."

"You will never behave like that again! Do you understand?"

"I'm not some foreman in your mills that you can command! I am your fiancée—"

Cal exploded, sweeping the breakfast china off the table with a crash. He moved to her in one shocking moment, glowering over her and gripping the sides of her chair, so she was trapped between his arms.

"Yes! You are! And my wife...in practice, if not yet by law. So you will honor me, as a wife is required to honor her husband! I will not be made out a fool! Is this in any way unclear?"

Rose shrank into the chair. She saw Trudy, frozen, partway through the door bringing the orange juice. Cal followed Rose's glance and straightened up. He stalked past the maid, entering the stateroom.

Rose was almost in tears. "We...had a little accident. I'm sorry, Trudy."


	25. Chapter Twenty Four

Chapter Twenty-Four

Ruth was dressed for the day, and was in the middle of helping Rose with her corset. The task did not inhibit Ruth's fury at all.

"You are not to see that boy again. Do you understand me, Rose? I forbid it!"

Ruth had her knee at the base of her daughter's back and was pulling the corset strings with both hands.

Rose sighed. "Oh, stop it, Mother. You'll give yourself a nosebleed."

Ruth pulled away from her and walked to the door, locking it with a click.

She wheeled on Rose. "Rose, this is not a game! Our situation is precarious. You know the money's gone!"

"Of course I know it's gone. You remind me every day!"

"Your father left us nothing but a legacy of bad debts, hidden by a good name. And that name is the only card we have to play."

Ruth turned Rose around and grabbed the corset strings again. Rose sucked in her waist and Ruth pulled.

"I don't understand you. It is a fine match with Hockley, and it will insure our survival."

Rose looked at her mother, hurt and lost. "How can you put this on my shoulders?"

Ruth turned to her, and Rose saw the naked fear in her mother's eyes.

"Do you want to see me working as a seamstress? Is that what you want? Do you want to see our fine things sold at auction, our memories scattered to the winds? My God, Rose, how can you be so selfish?"

"It's so unfair."

"Of course it's unfair! We're women. Our choices are never easy."

Ruth pulled the corset tighter.


	26. Chapter Twenty Five

Chapter Twenty-Five

At the divine service, Captain Smith was leading a large group in the hymn _Eternal Father Strong to Save_. Rose and Ruth sang in the middle of the group.

Lovejoy stood well back, keeping an eye on Rose. He noticed a commotion at the entry doors. Two stewards had halted Jack there. He was dressed in his third class clothes, and stood there, hat in hand, looking out of place.

A steward spoke to Jack. "Look, you, you're not supposed to be in here."

"I was just here last night...don't you remember?" He saw Lovejoy coming toward him. "He'll tell you."

Lovejoy had reached the group. "Mr. Hockley and Mrs. DeWitt Bukater continue to be most appreciative of your assistance. They asked me to give you this in gratitude—"

He held out two twenty-dollar bills, which Jack refused to take.

"I don't want money, I—"

"—and also to remind you that you hold a third class ticket and your presence here is no longer appropriate."

Jack spotted Rose, but she didn't see him.

"I just need to talk to Rose for a—"

"Gentlemen, please see that Mr. Dawson gets back where he belongs." Lovejoy gave the twenties to the stewards. "And that he stays there."

"Yes, sir!" The steward spoke to Jack. "Come along, you."

Rose did not see Jack hustled out.

She continued singing. "_Oh, hear us when we cry to thee, for those in peril on the sea_."


	27. Chapter Twenty Six

Chapter Twenty-Six

The gymnasium on Titanic resembled an Edwardian nautilus room. There were machines still in use in the late twentieth century, and machines that had long since been cast aside.

A woman pedaled a stationary bicycle in a long dress, looking ridiculous. Thomas Andrews was leading a small tour group, including Rose, Ruth, and Cal. Cal was working the oars of a stationary rowing machine with a well-trained stroke.

"Reminds me of my Harvard days," he told them, rising.

T.W. McCauley, the gym instructor, was a bouncy little man in white flannels, eager to show off his modern equipment, like his later counterpart on an Abflex infomercial. He hit a switch and a machine with a saddle on it started to undulate. Rose put her hand on it, curious.

"The electric horse is very popular. We even have an electric camel." He turned to Ruth. "Care to try your hand at the rowing, ma'am?"

"Don't be absurd. I can't think of a skill I should likely need less."

Andrews gestured to the group. "The next stop on our tour will be the bridge. This way, please."

*****

Jack, walking with determination, was followed closely by Tommy and Fabrizio. He quickly climbed the steps to B-Deck and stepped over the gate separating third from second class.

Tommy shook his head. "She's a goddess amongst mortal men, there's no denying. But she's in another world, Jackie, forget her. She's closed the door."

Jack moved furtively to the wall below the A-Deck promenade, aft. "It was them, not her." Jack glanced around the deck. "Ready...go."

Tommy shook his head resignedly and put his hands together, crouching down. Jack stepped into Tommy's hands and got boosted up to the next deck, where he scrambled nimbly over the railing, onto the First Class deck.

Tommy watched him go, still shaking his head. "He's not being logical, I tell you."

Fabrizio shrugged. "Amore is'a not logical."

*****

A man was playing with his son, who was spinning a top with a string. The man's overcoat and hat were sitting on a deck chair nearby. Jack emerged from behind one of the huge deck cranes and calmly picked up the coat and bowler hat. He walked away, slipping into the coat, and slicked his hair back with spit. Then he put the hat on at a jaunty angle. At a distance he could pass for a gentleman.

*****

Harold Bride, the twenty-one-year-old Junior Wireless Operator, hustled in and skirted around Andrews' tour group to hand a Marconigram to Captain Smith. "Another ice warning, sir. This one from the Baltic."

"Thank you, Sparks." Smith glanced at the message, then nonchalantly put it in his pocket. He nodded reassuringly to Rose and the group. "Not to worry. It's quite normal for this time of year. In fact, we're speeding up. I've just ordered the last boilers lit."

Andrews scowled slightly before motioning the group toward the door. They exited just as Second Officer Charles Herbert Lightoller came out of the chartroom, stopping next to First Officer Murdoch.

"Did we ever find those binoculars for the lookouts?" Lightoller asked Murdoch.

"Haven't seen them since Southampton," Murdoch replied, shrugging.

*****

Andrews led the group back from the bridge along the boat deck.

"Mr. Andrews, I did the sum in my head, and with the number of lifeboats times the capacity you mentioned...forgive me, but it seems that there are not enough for everyone aboard." Rose looked at Andrews in concern.

"About half, actually. Rose, you miss nothing, do you? In fact, I put in these new type davits, which can take an extra row of boats here." Andrews gestured along the deck. "But it was thought...by some...that the deck would look too cluttered. So I was overruled."

Cal slapped the side of a boat. "Waste of deck space as it is, on an unsinkable ship!"

Andrews ignored him, turning to Rose. "Sleep soundly, young Rose. I have built you a good ship, strong and true. She's all the lifeboat you need."

As they were passing Boat 7, a gentleman turned from the rail and walked up behind the group. It was Jack. He tapped Rose on the arm and she turned, gasping. He motioned and she cut away from the group toward a door, which Jack held open. They ducked into the gymnasium.

Jack closed the door behind her, and glanced out through the ripple-glass window to the starboard rail, where the gym instructor was chatting up the woman who was riding the bike. Rose and Jack were alone in the room.

Rose tried to walk away. "Jack, this is impossible. I can't see you."

He took her by the shoulders. "Rose, you're no picnic...you're a spoiled little brat even, but under that you're a strong, pure heart, and you're the most amazingly astounding girl I've ever known, and—"

"Jack, I—"

"No, wait. Let me try to get this out. You're amazing...and I know I have nothing to offer you, Rose. I know that. But I'm involved know. You jump, I jump, remember? I can't turn away without knowing you're going to be all right."

Rose felt the tears coming to her eyes. Jack was so open and real...not like anyone she had ever known. "You're making this very hard. I'll be fine. Really."

"I don't think so. They've got you in a glass jar like some butterfly, and you're going to die if you don't break out. Maybe not right away, because you're strong. But sooner or later the fire in you is going to go out."

"It's not up to you to save me, Jack."

"You're right. Only you can do that."

"I have to get back; they'll miss me. Please, Jack, for both our sakes, leave me alone."

Rose ran out onto the deck. Jack watched her go, through the rippled windows of the gymnasium...like a figure underwater.


	28. Chapter Twenty Seven

Chapter Twenty-Seven

The first class lounge was the most elegant room on the ship, done in Louis Quinze Versailles style. Rose sat on a divan, with a group of other women arrayed around her. Ruth, the Countess Rothes, and Lady Duff-Gordon were taking tea. Rose was silent and still as a porcelain figurine as the conversation washed around her.

Ruth was complaining about the wedding arrangements. "Of course the invitations had to be sent back to the printers twice. And the bridesmaid's dresses! Let me tell you what an odyssey that has been..."

Rose's mind was elsewhere as Ruth went on. She saw, at another table, a mother and daughter having tea. The four-year-old girl, wearing white gloves, daintily picked up a cookie. The mother corrected her on her posture, and the way she held the teacup. The little girl was trying so hard to please, her expression serious. It was as though Rose was glimpsing herself at that age, remembering the relentless conditioning...the path to becoming an Edwardian geisha.

Rose calmly and deliberately turned her teacup over, spilling tea all over her dress. She got to her feet, excusing herself.

"Oh, look what I've done." She hurried away.


	29. Chapter Twenty Eight

Chapter Twenty-Eight

Titanic steamed along in the dusk light, as if lit by the embers of a giant fire. As the ship moved over the sea, someone stood at the bow. Jack was there, right at the apex of the bow railing, his favorite spot. He closed his eyes, letting the chill wind clear his head.

Jack heard Rose's voice, behind him.

"Hello, Jack."

He turned, and she was standing there.

"I changed my mind."

He smiled at her, his eyes drinking her in. Her cheeks were red with the chill wind, and her eyes sparkled. Her hair blew wildly about her face.

"Fabrizio said you might be up—"

"Shh. Come here."

He put his hands on her waist, as if he was going to kiss her.

"Close your eyes."

She did, and he turned her to face forward, the way the ship was going. He pressed her gently to the rail, standing right behind her.

"Okay, step up onto the railing." He helped her up. "Do you trust me?"

She nodded. "I trust you."

He took her two hands and raised them until she was standing with her arms outstretched on each side. Rose was going along with him. When he lowered his hands, her arms stayed up...like wings.

"Okay. Open them."

Rose gasped. There was nothing in her field of vision but water. It was like there was no ship under them at all, just the two of them soaring. The Atlantic unrolled toward her, a hammered copper shield under a dusk sky. There was only the wind, and the hiss of the water fifty feet below.

"I'm flying, Jack! I'm flying!"

She leaned forward, arching her back. He put his hands on her waist to steady her.

Jack sang softly in Rose's ear. "Come Josephine in my flying machine..."

Rose closed her eyes, feeling herself floating weightless far above the sea. She smiled dreamily, then leaned back, gently pressing her back against his chest. He pushed forward slightly against her.

Slowly, he raised his hands, arms outstretched, and they met hers...fingertips gently touching. Then their fingers intertwined. Moving slowly, their fingers caressed through and around each other like the bodies of two lovers.

Jack tipped his face forward into her blowing hair, letting the scent of her wash over him, until his cheek was against her ear.

Rose turned her head until her lips were near his. She lowered her arms, turning further, until she found his mouth with hers. He wrapped his arms around her from behind, and they kissed like this, with her head turned, and tilted back, surrendering to him, to the emotion, to the inevitable. They kissed, slowly and tremulously, and then with building passion.

Jack and the ship seemed to merge into one force of power and optimism, lifting her, buoying her forward on a magical journey, soaring onward into a night without fear.

*****

In the crow's nest, high above and behind them, lookout Frederick Fleet nudged his mate, Reginald Lee, pointing down at the figures in the bow.

Fleet shook his head. "Wish I had those bleeding binoculars."

*****

Jack and Rose, embracing at the bow rail, stepped slowly away, leaving the bow of the ship.


	30. Chapter Twenty Nine

Chapter Twenty-Nine

Rose blinked, seeming to come back to the present. She saw the wreck on the screen, the sad ghost ship deep in the abyss.

"That was the last time Titanic ever saw daylight."

Brock Lovett changed the tape in the mini-cassette recorder.

"So we're up to dusk on the night of the sinking. Six hours to go."

Bodine got to his feet. "Don't you love it? There's Smith, he's standing there with the iceberg warning in his fucking hand..." He remembered Rose. "...excuse me...in his hand, and he's ordering more speed."

Brock looked up. "Twenty-six years of experience working against him. He figures anything big enough to sink the ship they're going to see in time to turn. But the ship's too big, with too small a rudder...it can't corner worth shit. Everything he knows is wrong."

Rose was ignoring this conversation. She had the art-noveau comb with the jade butterfly on the handle in her hands, turning it slowly. She was watching a monitor, which showed the ruins of Suite B-52/56. Slowly, she began to speak again.


	31. Chapter Thirty

Chapter Thirty

1912

The beautiful, opulent woodwork and satin upholstery of Rose's suite overwhelmed Jack for a moment. He set his sketchbook and drawing materials on the marble table.

Rose switched on the lights. "Will this light do? Don't artists need good light?"

Jack responded in a bad French accent. "Zat is true, I am not used to working in such 'orreeble conditions." He saw the paintings. "Hey...Monet!"

He crouched next to the paintings stacked against the wall.

"Isn't he great...the use of color. I saw him once...through a hole in his garden fence in Giverny."

Rose went into the adjoining walk-in closet. Jack saw her go to the safe and start working the combination. He was fascinated.

"Cal insists on lugging this thing everywhere," Rose told him, turning the dial.

Jack didn't want to have to deal with Cal. "Should I be expecting him anytime soon?"

"Not as long as the cigars and brandy hold out."

With a clunk, she unlocked the safe. Glancing up, she met his eyes in the mirror behind the safe. She opened it and removed the necklace, then held it out to Jack, who took it nervously.

"What is it? A sapphire?"

"A diamond. A very rare diamond, called the Heart of the Ocean."

Jack gazed at wealth beyond his comprehension.

"I want you to draw me like your French girl. Wearing this." She smiled at him. "Wearing only this."

He looked up at her, surprised.

*****

Rose drew the butterfly comb out of her hair. She shook her head and her hair fell free around her shoulders.

*****

In the sitting room Jack was laying out his pencils like surgical tools. His sketchbook was open and ready. He looked up as she came into the room, wearing a silk kimono.

"The last thing I need is another picture of me looking like a china doll. As a paying customer, I expect to get what I want."

She handed him a dime and stepped back, parting the kimono. The blue stone lay on her creamy breast. Her heart was pounding as she slowly lowered the robe.

Jack looked so stricken, it was almost comical. The kimono dropped to the floor.

"Over there...on the bed—I mean, uh, the couch," Jack stammered, staring at her.

"Tell me when it looks right to you."

She posed on the divan, settling like a cat into the position from the drawing...almost.

"Uh...just bend your left leg a little and...and lower your head. Eyes to me. That's it."

Jack started to sketch. He dropped his pencil and she stifled a laugh.

"I believe you are blushing, Mr. Big Artiste. I can't imagine Monsieur Monet blushing."

Jack was sweating. "He does landscapes."

His eyes came up to look at her over the top edge of his sketchpad. It was an image she would carry the rest of her life.

Despite his nervousness, he drew with sure strokes, and what emerged was the best thing he had ever done. Her pose was languid, her hands beautiful, and her eyes radiated her energy.


	32. Chapter Thirty One

Chapter Thirty-One

At one hundred one years old, only Rose's eyes were the same.

"My heart was pounding the whole time. It was the most erotic moment of my life...up till then at least."

A semicircle of listeners stared in rapt, frozen silence. The story of Jack and Rose had finally and completely grabbed them.

After a moment, Bodine spoke. "What, uh...happened next?"

Rose smiled. "You mean, did we 'do it'? Sorry to disappoint you, Mr. Bodine. Jack was very professional."


	33. Chapter Thirty Two

Chapter Thirty-Two

1912

Jack was signing the drawing. Rose, wearing her kimono again, was leaning on his shoulder, watching.

Rose gazed at the drawing. He had X-rayed her soul. "Date it, Jack. I want to always remember this night."

He did: 4/14/1912. Rose, meanwhile, scribbled a note on a piece of Titanic stationary. She didn't say what it said. She accepted the drawing from him, and went to the safe in the wardrobe.

She put the diamond back in the safe, placing the drawing and the note on top of it. She closed the door with a clunk.

*****

Lovejoy entered from the Palm Court through the revolving door and crossed the room toward Hockley. A fire was blazing in the marble fireplace, and the usual fatcats were playing cards, drinking, and talking. Cal saw Lovejoy and detached from his group, coming to him.

Lovejoy spoke quietly. "None of the stewards have seen her."

Cal's voice was low but forceful. "This is ridiculous, Lovejoy. Find her."

*****

Titanic glided across an unnatural sea, black and calm as a pool of oil. The ship's lights were mirrored almost perfectly in the black water. The sky was brilliant with stars. A meteor traced a bright line across the heavens.

On the bridge, Captain Smith peered out at the blackness ahead of the ship. Quartermaster Hitchens brought him a cup of hot tea with lemon. It steamed in the bitter cold of the open bridge. Second Officer Lightoller was next to him, staring out at the sheet of black glass the Atlantic had become.

"I don't think I've ever seen such a flat calm, in twenty-four years at sea." Lightoller looked at Captain Smith in concern.

"Yes, like a millpond. Not a breath of wind." Smith did not seem worried.

"It'll make the bergs harder to see, with no breaking water at the base."

"Mmm. Well, I'm off. Maintain speed and heading, Mr. Lightoller."

"Yes, sir."

"And wake me, of course, if anything becomes in the slightest degree doubtful."


	34. Chapter Thirty Three

Chapter Thirty-Three

Rose, fully dressed now, returned to the sitting room. They heard a key in the lock. Rose took Jack's hand and led him silently through the bedrooms. Lovejoy entered by the sitting room door.

"Miss Rose? Hello?"

He heard a door opening and went through Cal's room toward hers.

Rose and Jack came out of her stateroom, closing the door. She led him quickly along the corridor toward the B deck foyer. They were halfway across the open space when the sitting room door opened in the corridor and Lovejoy came out. The valet saw Jack with Rose and hustled after them.

Rose saw him coming. "Come on!"

She and Jack broke into a run, surprising the few ladies and gentlemen about. Rose led him past the stairs to the bank of elevators. They ran into one, shocking the hell out of the operator.

"Take us down. Quickly, quickly!"

The operator scrambled to comply. Jack even helped him close the steel gate. Lovejoy ran up as the lift started to descend. He slammed one hand on the bars of the gate. Rose made a very rude and unladylike gesture, and laughed as Lovejoy disappeared above. The operator gaped at her.

Lovejoy emerged from the stairs and ran to the lift Jack and Rose were in. The operator was just closing the gate to go back up. Lovejoy ran around the bank of elevators and scanned the foyer...no Jack and Rose. He tried the stairs going down to F deck.

The F deck corridor was a functional space, with access to a number of machine spaces—fan rooms, boiler uptakes. Jack and Rose were leaning against a wall, laughing.

"Pretty tough for a valet, this fellow. He seems more like a cop."

"He's an ex-Pinkerton. Cal's father hired him to keep Cal out of trouble...to make sure he always got back to the hotel with his wallet and watch, after some crawl through the less reputable parts of town..."

"Kind of like we're doing right now—uh-oh!"

Lovejoy had spotted them from a cross-corridor nearby. He charged toward them. Jack and Rose ran around a corner into a blind alley. There was one door, marked Crew Only, and Jack flung it open.

They entered a roaring fan room, with no way out but a ladder going down. Jack latched the deadbolt on the door, and Lovejoy slammed against it a moment later. Jack grinned at Rose, pointing to the ladder.

"After you, my lady."

Jack and Rose came down the escape ladder and looked around in amazement. It was like a vision of hell itself, with the roaring furnaces and black figures moving in the smoky glow. They ran the length of the boiler room, dodging amazed stokers, and trimmers with their wheelbarrows of coal.

Jack shouted over the din. "Carry on! Don't mind us! You're doin' a great job!"

They ran through the open watertight door into boiler room six. Jack pulled her through the fiercely hot alley between two boilers, and they wound up in the dark, out of sight of the working crew. Watching from the shadows, they saw the stokers working in the hellish glow, shoveling coal into the insatiable maws of the furnaces. The whole place thundered with the roar of the fires.

*****

Amid unparalleled luxury, Cal sat at a card game, sipping brandy.

Colonel Gracie was praising the ship's speed. "We're going like hell, I tell you. I have fifty dollars that says we make it into New York Tuesday night!"

Cal looked at his gold pocket watch and scowled, not listening.

*****

The furnaces roared, silhouetting the glistening stokers. Jack kissed Rose's face, tasting the sweat trickling down from her forehead. They kissed passionately in the steamy, pounding darkness.


	35. Chapter Thirty Four

Chapter Thirty-Four

Jack and Rose entered hold number two and ran laughing between the rows of stacked cargo. She hugged herself against the cold, after the dripping heat of the boiler room.

They came upon William Carter's brand new Renault touring car, lashed down to a pallet. It looked like a royal coach from a fairy tale, its brass trim and headlamps nicely set off by its deep burgundy color.

Rose climbed into the plushly upholstered back seat, acting very royal. There were cut crystal bud vases on the walls back there, each containing a rose. Jack jumped into the driver's seat, enjoying the feel of the leather and wood.

"Where to, Miss?" He looked back at her, enjoying the game.

"To the stars."

Her hands came out of the shadows and pulled him over the seat into the back. He landed next to her, and his breathing seemed loud in the quiet darkness. He looked at her, and she was smiling. It was the moment of truth.

"Are you nervous?" he whispered.

She shook her head. "No."

He stroked her face, cherishing her. She kissed his artist's fingers.

"Put your hands on me, Jack."

He kissed her, and she slid down in the seat under his welcome weight.

*****

A brilliant arc of electricity arched in the machine—the spark gap of the Marconi instrument as senior wireless operator Jack Phillips rapidly keyed out a message. Junior operator Bride looked through the huge stack of outgoing messages swamping them.

"Look at this one. He wants his private train to meet him. La dee da." Bride slapped them down. "We'll be up all bloody night on this lot."

Phillips started to receive an incoming message from a nearby ship, the Leyland freighter Californian, which jammed his outgoing signal. At such close range, the beeps were deafening.

"Christ! It's that idiot on the Californian." Cursing, Phillips furiously keyed a rebuke.

*****

Wireless operator Cyril Evans pulled his earphones off his ears as the Titanic's spark deafened him. He translated the message for Third Officer Groves.

"Stupid bastard. I try to warn him about the ice, and he says, 'Keep out. Shut up. I'm working Cape Race.'"

"Now what's he sending?"

"'No seasickness. Poker business good. Al.' Well, that's it for me. I'm shutting down."

As Evans wearily switched off his generator, Groves went out on deck. The ship was stopped fifty yards from the edge of a field of pack ice and icebergs stretching as far as the eye could see.

*****

Titanic was steaming hell-bent through the darkness, hurling up white water at the bow. The bow moved straight ahead, raising a giant wave in its wake.

*****

The rear window of the Renault was completely fogged up. Rose's hand came up and slammed against the glass for a moment, making a handprint in the veil of condensation.

Inside the car, Jack's overcoat was like a blanket over them. It stirred, and Rose pulled it down. They were huddled under it, intertwined, still mostly clothed. Their faces were flushed and they looked at each other wonderingly. She put her hand on his face, as if making sure he was real.

"You're trembling," she whispered.

"It's okay. I'm all right." He laid his cheek against her chest. "I can feel your heart beating."

She hugged his head to her chest, and just held on for dear life.

She wasn't the first teenage girl to get seduced in the back seat of a car, and certainly not the last, by several million. He had such fine hands, artist's hands, but strong too...roughened by work. She remembered their touch even after eighty-four years.


	36. Chapter Thirty Five

Chapter Thirty-Five

The bow swept along, and toward the foremast, in the half-cylinder of the crow's nest, were lookouts Fleet and Lee. They were stamping their feet and swinging their arms, trying to keep warm in the twenty-two knot freezing wind, which whipped the vapor of their breath away behind.

"You can smell ice, you know, when it's near," Fleet said to Lee.

"Bollocks."

"Well, I can."

*****

Their words barely audible over the roar of the furnaces, the stokers told two stewards which way Rose and Jack went. The stewards moved off toward the forward holds.

*****

Cal stood at the open safe. He stared at the drawing of Rose, and his face clenched with fury. He read the note again: _Darling, now you can keep us both locked in your safe. Rose_.

Lovejoy, standing behind him, looked over his shoulder at the drawing. Cal crumpled Rose's note, then took the drawing in both hands as if to rip it in half. He tensed to do it, then stopped himself.

"I have a better idea."

*****

The two stewards entered hold number two. They had electric torches and played the beams around the hold. They spotted the Renault with its fogged up rear window and approached it slowly.

The torch lit up Rose's passionate handprint, still there on the fogged up glass. One steward whipped open the door.

"Got you!"

The back seat was empty.

*****

Rose and Jack, fully dressed, came through a crew door onto the deck. They could barely stand, they were laughing so hard.

Up above them, in the crow's nest, lookout Fleet heard the disturbance below and looked around and back down to the well deck, where he could see two figures embracing.

Jack and Rose stood in each other's arms. Their breath clouded around them in the now freezing air, but they didn't even feel the cold.

"When this ship docks, I'm getting off with you," Rose told Jack.

"This is crazy."

"I know. It doesn't make any sense. That's why I trust it."

Jack pulled her to him and kissed her fiercely.

In the crow's nest, Fleet nudged Lee.

"Cor...look at that, would you."

"They're a bloody sight warmer than we are."

"Well, if that's what it takes for us two to get warm, I'd rather not, if it's all the same."

They both had a good laugh at that one. It was Fleet whose expression fell first. Glancing forward again, he did a double take. The color drained out of his face.

A massive iceberg was right in their path, five hundred yards out.

"Bugger me!"

Fleet reached past Lee and rang the lookout bell three times, then grabbed the telephone, calling the bridge. He waited precious seconds for it to be picked up, never taking his eyes off the black mass ahead.

"Pick up, you bastard!"

*****

Inside the enclosed wheelhouse, Sixth Officer Moody walked unhurriedly to the telephone, picking it up.

"Is someone there?" Fleet was getting frantic.

"Yes. What do you see?"

"Iceberg right ahead!"

"Thank you." Moody hung up, and called to Murdoch. "Iceberg right ahead!"

Murdoch saw it and rushed to the engine room telegraph. While signaling Full Speed Astern, he yelled to Quartermaster Hitchens, who was at the wheel.

"Hard a' starboard!"

Moody was standing behind Hitchens. "Hard a' starboard. The helm is hard over, sir."

*****

Chief Engineer Bell was just checking the soup he had warming on a steam manifold when the engine telegraph clanged, then went...unbelievably...to Full Speed Astern. He and the other engineers just stared at it a second, unbelieving. Then Bell reacted.

"Full astern! Full astern!"

The engineers and greasers scrambled like madmen to close steam valves and start braking the mighty propeller shafts, big as Sequoias, to a stop.

In boiler room six, Leading Stoker Frederick Barrett was standing with Second Engineer James Hesketh when the red warning light and stop indicator came on.

"Shut all dampers! Shut 'em!"

From the bridge Murdoch watched the berg growing...straight ahead. The bow finally started to come left, since the ship turned the reverse of the helm setting.

Murdoch's jaw clenched as the bow turned with agonizing slowness. He held his breath as the horrible physics played out.

In the crow's nest Frederick Fleet braced himself.

The bow of the ship thundered ahead, and, with a crunch, the ship hit the berg on its starboard bow.

Under water, the ice smashed in the steel hull plates. The iceberg bumped and scraped along the side of the ship. Rivets popped as the steel plate of the hull flexed under the load.

In number two hold the two stewards staggered as the hull buckled in four feet with a sound like thunder. Like a sledgehammer beating along outside the ship, the berg split the hull plates and the sea poured in, sweeping them off their feet. The icy water swirled around the Renault as the men scrambled for the stairs.

On G Deck forward, Fabrizio was tossed in his bunk by the impact. He heard a sound like the greatly amplified squeal of a skate on ice.

In boiler room six, Barrett and Hesketh staggered as they heard the rolling thunder of the collision. They saw the starboard side of the ship buckle in toward them and were almost swept off their feet by a rush of water coming in about two feet above the floor.

On the forward well deck, Jack and Rose broke their kiss and looked up in astonishment as the berg sailed past, blocking out the sky like a mountain. Fragments broke off it and crashed down onto the deck, and they had to jump back to avoid flying chunks of ice.

On the bridge, Murdoch rang the watertight door alarm. He quickly threw the switch that closed them. "Hard a' port!" Judging the berg to be amidships, he was trying to clear the stern.

Barrett and Hesketh heard the door alarm and scrambled through the swirling water to the watertight door between boiler rooms six and five. The room was full of water vapor as the cold sea struck the red-hot furnaces. Barrett yelled to the stokers scrambling through the door as it came down like a slow guillotine.

"Go lads! Go! Go!"

He dived through into boiler room five just before the door rumbled down with a clang.

Jack and Rose rushed to the starboard rail in time to see the berg moving aft down the side of the ship.

In his stateroom, surrounded by piles of plans while makes notes in his ever-present book, Andrews looked up at the sound of a cut-crystal light fixture tinkling like a wind chime.

He felt the shudder run through the ship. And it showed in his face. Too much of his soul was in this great ship for him not to feel its mortal wound.

In the first class smoking room, Gracie watched his highball vibrating on the table.

In the Palm Court, with its high arched windows, Molly Brown held up her drink to a passing waiter.

"Hey, can I get some ice here, please?"

Silently, a wall of ice filled the windows behind her. She didn't see it. It disappeared astern.

In the crow's nest, Fleet turned to Lee.

"Oy, mate...that was a close shave."

"Smell ice, can you? Bleeding Christ!"

*****

The alarm bells still clattered mindlessly, seeming to reflect Murdoch's inner state. He was in shock, unable to get a grip on what just happened. He had just run the biggest ship in history into an iceberg on its maiden voyage.

Murdoch spoke stiffly to Moody. "Note the time. Enter it in the log."

Captain Smith rushed out of his cabin onto the bridge, tucking in his shirt.

"What was that, Mr. Murdoch?"

"An iceberg, sir. I put her hard a' starboard and run the engines full astern, but it was too close. I tried to port around it, but she hit...and I—"

"Close the emergency doors."

"The doors are closed."

Together they rushed out onto the starboard wing, and Murdoch pointed. Smith looked into the darkness aft, then wheeled around to Fourth Officer Boxhall.

"Find the carpenter and get him to sound the ship."

*****

In steerage, Fabrizio came out into the hall to see what was going on. He saw dozens of rats running toward him in the corridor, fleeing the flooding bow. Fabrizio jumped aside as the rats ran by. "Ma che cazzo!"

In his stateroom, Tommy got out of his top bunk in the dark and dropped down to the floor with a splash.

"Cor! What in hell?"

He snapped on the light. The floor was covered with three inches of freezing water, and more coming in. He pulled the door open, and stepped out into the corridor, which was flooded. Fabrizio was running toward him, yelling something in Italian. Tommy and Fabrizio started pounding on doors, getting everybody up and out. The alarm spread in several languages.

*****

A couple of people had come out into the corridor in robes and slippers. A steward hurried along, reassuring them.

"Why have the engines stopped? I felt a shudder," a woman asked him.

"I shouldn't worry, ma'am. We've likely thrown a propeller blade. That's the shudder you felt. May I bring you anything?"

Thomas Andrews brushed past them, walking fast and carrying an armload of rolled up ship's plans.

*****

Jack and Rose were leaning over the starboard rail, looking at the hull of the ship.

"Looks okay. I don't see anything," Jack said to Rose.

"Could it have damaged the ship?"

"It didn't seem like much of a bump. I'm sure we're okay."

Behind them a couple of steerage guys were kicking the ice around the deck, laughing. Rose picked up a piece of ice and dropped it down the back of Jack's shirt. He yelled, jumping around, trying to reach the ice.

"Okay, Rose. Now I'm throwing you overboard!" He picked her up.

Rose squealed in mock terror. "No! No, Jack!" They both burst out laughing.

*****

Fabrizio and Tommy were in a crowd of steerage men clogging the corridors, heading aft away from the flooding. Many of them had grabbed suitcases and duffel bags, some of which were soaked.

"If this is the direction the rats were running, it's good enough for me," Tommy shouted, hurrying forward.

*****

Bruce Ismay, dressed in pajamas under a topcoat, hurried down the corridor, headed for the bridge. An officious steward named Barnes came along the other direction, getting the few concerned passengers back into their rooms.

"There's no cause for alarm. Please, go back to your rooms."

Cal and Lovejoy stopped him in his tracks.

"Please, sir. There's no emergency—"

"Yes, there is. I've been robbed. Now get the Master-at-Arms. Now, you moron." Cal was losing patience.

*****

Captain Smith was studying the commutator.

He turned to Andrews, standing behind him.

"A five degree list in less than ten minutes."

Ship's carpenter John Hutchinson entered behind him, out of breath and clearly unnerved.

"She's making water fast...in the forepeak tank and the forward hold, and in boiler room six."

Ismay entered, his movements quick with anger and frustration. Smith glanced at him with annoyance.

"Why have we stopped?"

"We've struck ice."

"Well, do you think the ship is seriously damaged?"

Smith glared at Ismay. "Excuse me."

Smith pushed past him, with Andrews and Hutchinson in tow.

*****

Stokers and firemen were struggling to draw the fires. They were working in waist deep water churning around them as it flowed into the boiler room, ice cold and swirling with grease from the machinery. Chief Engineer Bell came partway down the ladder and shouted.

"That's it, lads. Get the hell up!"

They scrambled up the escape ladders.

*****

The gentleman, now joined by another man, leaned on the forward rail watching the steerage men playing soccer with chunks of ice.

"I guess it's nothing serious. I'm going back to my cabin to read."

A twentyish Yale man popped through the door, wearing a topcoat over pajamas.

"Say, did I miss the fun?"

Rose and Jack came up the steps from the well deck, which were right next to the three men. They stared as the couple climbed over the locked gate.

A moment later, Captain Smith rounded the corner, followed by Andrews and Carpenter Hutchinson. They had come down from the bridge by the outside stairs. The three men, their faces grim, brushed right past Jack and Rose. Andrews barely glanced at her.

"Can you shore up?"

"Not unless the pumps get ahead."

The inspection party went down the stairs to the well deck.

Jack spoke to Rose in a low voice. "It's bad."

"We have to tell Mother and Cal."

"Now it's worse."

"Come with me, Jack. I jump, you jump...right?"

"Right."

Jack followed Rose through the door inside the ship.


	37. Chapter Thirty Six

Chapter Thirty-Six

Jack and Rose crossed the foyer, entering the corridor. Lovejoy was waiting for them in the hall as they approached the room.

"We've been looking for you, Miss."

Lovejoy followed and, unseen, moved close behind Jack and smoothly slipped the diamond necklace into the pocket of his overcoat.

Cal and Ruth waited in the sitting room, along with the Master-at-Arms and two stewards. There was silence as Rose and Jack entered. Ruth closed her robe at her throat when she saw Jack.

Rose spoke. "Something serious has happened."

Cal smirked at her and responded. "That's right. Two things dear to me have disappeared this evening. Now that one is back..." He looked from Rose to Jack. "...I have a pretty good idea where to find the other. Search him."

The Master-at-Arms stepped up to Jack.

"Coat off, mate."

Lovejoy pulled at Jack's coat and Jack shook his head in dismay, shrugging out of it. The Master-at-Arms patted him down.

"This is horseshit," Jack said in dismay.

Rose turned to Cal. "Cal, you can't be serious! We're in the middle of an emergency, and you—"

Steward Barnes pulled the Heart of the Ocean out of the pocket of Jack's coat.

"Is this it?"

Rose was stunned. Needless to say, so was Jack.

"That's it." Cal took the necklace.

The Master-at-Arms looked at the diamond. "Right then. Now don't make a fuss."

He started to handcuff Jack.

"Don't you believe it, Rose. Don't."

Rose looked up, uncertain. "He couldn't have."

"Of course he could. Easy enough for a professional. He memorized the combination when you opened the safe."

Rose remembered standing at the safe, looking in the mirror and meeting Jack's eyes as he stood behind her, watching.

"But I was with him the whole time."

Cal spoke just to her, low and cold. "Maybe he did it while you were putting your clothes back on."

"They put it in my pocket!" Jack was still protesting his innocence.

Lovejoy held Jack's coat. "It's not even your pocket, son." He read the tag. "Property of A.L. Ryerson."

Lovejoy showed the coat to the Master-at-Arms. There was a label inside the collar with the owner's name.

"That was reported stolen today."

"I was going to return it! Rose—"

Rose felt utterly betrayed, hurt, and confused. She shrunk away from him. He started shouting to her as Lovejoy and the Master-at-Arms dragged him out into the hall. She couldn't look him in the eye.

"Rose, don't listen to them...I didn't do this! You know I didn't! You know it!"

She was devastated. Her mother laid a comforting hand on her shoulder as the tears welled up.

"Why do women believe men?"


	38. Chapter Thirty Seven

Chapter Thirty-Seven

Smith and Andrews came down the steps to the Mail Sorting Room and found the clerks scrambling to pull mail from the racks. They were furiously hauling wet sacks of mail up from the hold below.

Andrews climbed partway down the stairs to the hold, which was almost full. Sacks of mail floated everywhere. The lights were still on below the surface, casting an eerie glow. The Renault was visible under the water, the brass glinting cheerfully. Andrews looked down as the water covered his shoe, and scrambled back up the stairs.

*****

Andrews unrolled a big drawing of the ship across the chartroom table. It was a side elevation, showing all the watertight bulkheads. His hands were shaking. Murdoch and Ismay hovered behind Andrews and the Captain.

"When can we get underway, do you think?" Ismay asked impatiently.

Smith glared at him and turned his attention to Andrews' drawing. The builder pointed to it for emphasis as he talked.

"Water fourteen feet above the keel in ten minutes...in the forepeak...in all three holds...and in boiler room six."

"That's right," Smith agreed.

"Five compartments. She can stay afloat with the first four compartments breached. But not five. Not five. As she goes down by the head the water will spill over the tops of the bulkheads...at E deck...from one to the next...back and back. There's no stopping it."

"The pumps—" Captain Smith was grasping for any hope.

"The pumps buy you time...but minutes only. From this moment, no matter what we do, Titanic will founder."

"But this ship can't sink!" Ismay was flabbergasted.

"She is made of iron, sir. I assure you, she can. And she will. It is a mathematical certainty." Andrews already knew the truth.

Smith looked like he had been gut punched.

"How much time?"

"An hour, two at most," Andrews replied.

Ismay reeled as his dream turned into his worst nightmare.

"And how many aboard, Mr. Murdoch?" Smith asked.

"Two thousand, two hundred souls aboard, sir."

There was a pause. Smith turned to face his employer.

"I believe you may get your headlines, Mr. Ismay."

*****

Andrews was striding along the boat deck, as seamen and officers scurried to uncover the boats. Steam was venting from pipes on the funnels overhead, and the din was horrendous. Speech was difficult, adding to the crew's level of disorganization. Andrews saw some men fumbling with the mechanism of one of the Wellin davits and yelled to them over the roar of steam.

"Turn to the right! Pull the falls taut before you unchock. Have you never had a boat drill?"

"No, sir! Not with these new davits, sir."

He looked around, disgusted, as the crew fumbled with the davits, and the tackle for the falls...the ropes which were used to lower the boats. A few passengers were coming out on deck, hesitant in the noise and bitter cold.


	39. Chapter Thirty Eight

Chapter Thirty-Eight

From inside the sitting room of Rose and Cal's suite, they could hear knocking and voices in the corridor.

"I had better go dress." Ruth exited and Cal went to Rose. He regarded her coldly for a moment, then slapped her across the face.

"It is a little slut, isn't it?"

To Rose, the blow was inconsequential compared to the blow her heart had been given. Cal grabbed her shoulders roughly. "Look at me, you little—"

There was a loud knock on the door and an urgent voice. The door opened and their steward put his head in. "Sir, I've been told to ask you to please put on your lifebelt, and come up to the boat deck."

"Get out. We're busy."

The steward persisted, coming in to get the lifebelts down from the top of a dresser. "I'm sorry about the inconvenience, Mr. Hockley, but it's Captain's orders. Please dress warmly. It's quite cold tonight." He handed a lifebelt to Rose. "Not to worry, Miss. I'm sure it's just a precaution."

"This is ridiculous." Cal didn't believe there was any reason for the interruption.

In the corridor outside, the stewards were being so polite and obsequious that they were conveying no sense of danger whatsoever.

*****

However, it was another story in steerage.

Blackness. Then the door was thrown open with a bang and the light snapped on by a steward. The Cartmell family roused from a sound sleep.

"Everybody up. Let's go. Put your lifebelts on."

In the corridor outside, another steward was going from door to door along the hall, pounding and yelling. "Lifebelts on. Lifebelts on. Everybody up, come on. Lifebelts on..."

People came out of the doors behind the steward, perplexed. In the foreground a Syrian woman asked her husband what was said. He shrugged.

*****

Phillips looked shocked. "CQD, sir?"

"That's right. The distress call. CQD. Tell whoever responds that we are going down by the head and need immediate assistance." Smith hurried out.

"Blimey." Phillips was still in shock.

"Maybe you ought to try that new distress call...SOS." Bride grinned. "It may be our only chance to use it."

Phillips laughed in spite of himself and started sending history's first SOS. Dit, dit, dit, da, da, da, dit, dit, dit...over and over.

*****

Thomas Andrews looked around in amazement. The deck was empty except for the crew fumbling with the davits. He yelled over the roar of the steam to First Officer Murdoch. "Where are the passengers?"

"They've all gone back inside. Too damn cold and noisy for them."

Andrews felt like he was in a bad dream. He looked at his pocket watch and headed for the foyer entrance.


	40. Chapter Thirty Nine

Chapter Thirty-Nine

A large number of first class passengers had gathered near the staircase. They were getting indignant about the confusion. Molly Brown snagged a passing young steward.

"What's doing, sonny? You've got us all trussed up and now we're cooling our heels."

The young steward backed away, actually stumbling on the stairs. "Sorry, mum. Let me go and find out."

The jumpy piano rhythm of _Alexander's Ragtime Band came out of the first class lounge a few yards away. Bandleader Wallace Hartley had assembled some of his men on captain's orders, to allay panic._

Hockley's entourage came up to the A-deck foyer. Cal was carrying the lifebelts, almost as an afterthought. Rose was like a sleepwalker.

"It's just the Goddamned English doing everything by the book." Cal still didn't believe there was a real emergency.

"There's no need for language, Mr. Hockley." Ruth turned to Trudy. "Go back and turn the heater on in my room, so it won't be too cold when we get back."

Thomas Andrews entered, looking around the magnificent room, which he knew was doomed. Rose, standing nearby, saw his heartbroken expression. She walked over to him, and Cal went after her.

"I saw the iceberg, Mr. Andrews. And I see it in your eyes. Please tell me the truth." She looked up at him.

"The ship will sink."

"You're certain?"

"Yes. In an hour or so...all this...will be at the bottom of the Atlantic."

"My God." Now it was Cal's turn to look stunned. The Titanic? Sinking?

"Please tell only who you must. I don't want to be responsible for a panic. And get to a boat quickly. Don't wait. You remember what I told you about the boats?" Andrews felt sick inside, knowing how many were going to die.

"Yes, I understand. Thank you." Rose nodded. She had known that the ship had hit an iceberg, but the news still stunned her. The Titanic was truly sinking.

Andrews went off, moving among the passengers and urging them to put on their lifebelts and get to the boats.

*****

Lovejoy and the Master-at-Arms were handcuffing Jack to a four-inch water pipe as a crewman rushed in anxiously and almost blurted to the Master-at-Arms, "You're wanted by the purser, sir. Urgently."

"Go on. I'll keep an eye on him." Lovejoy pulled a pearl handled Colt .45 automatic from under his coat. The Master-at-Arms nodded and tossed the handcuff key to Lovejoy, then exited with the crewman. Lovejoy flipped the key in the air and caught it.

*****

Junior Wireless Operator Bride was relaying a message to Captain Smith from the Cunard Liner Carpathia. "Carpathia says they're making seventeen knots, full steam for them, sir."

"And she's the only one who's responding?"

"The only one close, sir. She says they can be here in four hours."

"Four hours!" The enormity of it hit Smith like a sledgehammer blow. "Thank you, Bride."

He turned as Bride exited, and looked out onto the blackness.

Smith whispered to himself. "My God."


	41. Chapter Forty

Chapter Forty

Lightoller had his boats swung out. He was standing amidst a crowd of uncertain passengers in all states of dress and undress. One first class woman was barefoot. Others were in stockings. The maitre d' of the restaurant was in top hat and overcoat. Others were still in evening dress, while some were in bathrobes and kimonos. Women were wearing lifebelts over velvet gowns, then topping it with sable stoles. Some brought jewels, others books, even small dogs.

Lightoller saw Smith walking stiffly toward him and quickly went to him. He yelled into the Captain's ear, through cupped hands, over the roar of the steam. "Hadn't we better get the women and children into the boats, sir?"

Smith just nodded, a bit absently. The fire had gone out of him. Lightoller saw the awful truth in Smith's face.

Lightoller shouted to the men. "Right! Start the loading. Women and children!"

The appalling din of escaping steam abruptly cut off, leaving a sudden unearthly silence in which Lightoller's voice echoed.

Wallace Hartley raised his violin to play. "Number twenty-six. Ready and—"

The band had reassembled just outside the first class entrance, port side, near where Lightoller was calling for the boats to be loaded. They struck up a waltz, lively and elegant. The music wafted all over the ship.

Lightoller indicated the boat. "Ladies, this way."

No one moved. A couple of women looked down the side of the ship. It was a long way to the water. With the steam cut off, and the music playing, the ship seemed very safe and sound. Like a big rock in the middle of the ocean.

"Ladies, please. Step into the boat."

Finally, one woman stepped across the gap, into the boat, terrified of the drop to the water far below.

"You watch. They'll put us off in these silly little boats to freeze, and we'll all be back on board by breakfast," said a woman in the crowd.

Cal, Rose, and Ruth came out of the doors near the band.

"My brooch. I left my brooch. I must have it!" Ruth turned back to go to her room, but Cal took her by the arm, refusing to let her go. The firmness of his hold surprised her.

"Stay here, Ruth."

Ruth saw his expression, and knew fear for the first time.

*****

It was chaos in steerage, with stewards pushing their way through narrow corridors clogged with people carrying suitcases, duffel bags, children. Some had lifebelts on, others didn't.

One steward spoke to another. "I told the stupid sods no luggage. Aw, bloody hell!"

He threw up his hands at the sight of a family, loaded down with cases and bags, completely blocking the corridor.

Fabrizio and Tommy pushed past the stewards, going the other way. They reached a huge crowd gathered at the bottom of the main third class stairwell. Fabrizio spotted Helga with the rest of the Dahl family, standing patiently with suitcases in hand. He reached her and she grinned, hugging him.

Tommy pushed to where he could see what was holding up the group. There was a steel gate across the top of the stairs, with several stewards and seamen on the other side.

"Stay calm, please. It's not time to go up to the boats yet." The stewards and seamen stood before the gate, refusing to unlock it.

Near Tommy, an Irishwoman stood stoically with two small children and their battered luggage.

"What are we doing, mummy?" one of the children asked.

"We're just waiting, dear. When they finish putting first class people in the boats, they'll be starting in us, and we'll want to be all ready, won't we?"

*****

Boat 7 was less than half full, with twenty-eight aboard a boat made for sixty-five.

"Lower away! By the left and right together, steady lads!" Murdoch shouted.

The boat lurched as the falls started to pay out through the pulley blocks. The women gasped. The boat descended, swaying and jerking, toward the water sixty feet below. The passengers were terrified.

*****

The rows of portholes were angling down into the water. Under the surface, they glowed green. One porthole was half submerged. Inside was Jack, looking apprehensively at the water rising up the glass.

Inside the Master-at-Arm's office, Jack sat chained to the water pipe, next to the porthole. Lovejoy sat on the edge of a desk. He put a .45 bullet on the desk and watched it roll across and fall off. He picked up the bullet.

"You know...I do believe this ship may sink." He walked over to Jack. "I've been asked to give you this small token of our appreciation..." He punched Jack hard in the stomach, knocking the wind out of him. "Compliments of Mr. Caledon Hockley."

Lovejoy flipped the handcuff key in the air, caught it, and put it in his pocket. He exited. Jack was left gasping, handcuffed to the pipe.

*****

At the stairwell rail on the bridge wing, Fourth Officer Boxhall and Quartermaster Rowe lit the first distress rocket. It shot into the sky and exploded with a thunderclap over the ship, sending out white starbursts, which lit up the entire deck as they fell.

Ismay, the Managing Director of White Star Line, was cracking. Already at the breaking point from his immense guilt, the rocket panicked him. He started shouting at the officers struggling with the falls of Boat 5.

"There is no time to waste!" he yelled, and waved his arms. "Lower away! Lower away! Lower away!"

Fifth Officer Lowe, a baby-faced twenty-eight, and the youngest officer, looked up from the tangled falls at the madman. "Get out of the way, you fool!"

"Do you know who I am?"

Lowe, not having a clue nor caring, squared up to Ismay. "You're a passenger. And I'm a ship's bloody officer. Now do what you're told!" He turned away. "Steady, men! Stand by the falls!"

Ismay spoke numbly, backing away. "Yes, quite right. Sorry."


	42. Chapter Forty One

Chapter Forty-One

Second Officer Lightoller was loading the boat nearest Cal and Rose...Boat 6. "Women and children only! Sorry, sir, no men yet."

Another rocket burst overhead, lighting the crowd. Startled faces turned upward, fear now in the eyes.

Daniel Marvin had his Biograph camera set up, cranking away...hoping to get an exposure off the rocket's light. He had Mary posed in front of the scene at the boats. "You're afraid, darling. Scared to death. That's it!"

Either she suddenly learned to act, or she was petrified.

Rose watched the farewells taking place right in front of her as they stepped closer to the boat. Husbands saying good-bye to wives and children. Lovers and friends parted.

Nearby, Molly was getting a reluctant woman to board the boat. "Come on, you heard the man. Get in the boat, sister."

"Will the lifeboats be seated according to class?" Ruth asked. "I hope they're not too crowded—"

"Oh, Mother, shut up!" Ruth froze, mouth open, as Rose grabbed her shoulders. "Don't you understand? The water is freezing and there aren't enough boats...not enough by half. Half of the people on this ship are going to die."

"Not the better half." Cal looked at Rose patronizingly. "You know, it's a pity I didn't keep that drawing. It'll be worth a lot more by morning."

It hit her like a thunderbolt. Jack was third class. He didn't stand a chance. Another rocket burst overhead, bathing her face in white light.

"You unimaginable bastard." She stared at Cal as though seeing him for the first time.

"Come on, Ruth, get in the boat. These are the first class seats right up here. That's it." Molly practically handed her over to Lightoller, then looked around for some other women who might need a push. "Come on, Rose. You're next, darling."

Rose stepped back, shaking her head.

"Rose, get in the boat!" Ruth commanded her.

Rose looked at her, then walked away. "Good-bye, Mother."

Ruth, standing in the tippy lifeboat, could do nothing. Cal grabbed Rose's arm, but she pulled free and walked away through the crowd. Cal caught up to Rose and grabbed her again, roughly.

"Where are you going? To him? Is that it? To be a whore to that gutter rat?"

"I'd rather be his whore than your wife."

He clenched his jaw and squeezed her arm viciously, pulling her back toward the lifeboat. Rose spat in his face. He let go with a curse, and she ran into the crowd.

"Lower away!" Lightoller shouted.

"Rose! Rose!" Ruth still called after her.

"Stuff a sock in it, would you, Ruth? She'll be along," Molly told Ruth.

The boat lurched downward as the falls were paid out.

Rose ran through the clusters of people. She looked back, and a furious Cal was coming after her. She ran breathlessly up to two proper-looking men. "That man tried to take advantage of me in the crowd!"

Appalled, they turned to see Cal running toward them. Rose ran on as the two men grabbed Cal, restraining him. She ran through the first class entrance.

Cal broke free and ran after her. He reached the entrance, but ran into a knot of people coming out. He pushed rudely through them, and down to the landing, pushing past the gentlemen and ladies who were filing up the stairs. He scanned the A Deck foyer. Rose was gone.

*****

The hull of Titanic loomed over Boat 6 like a cliff. Its enormous mass was suddenly threatening to those in the tiny boat. Quartermaster Hitchens, at the tiller, wanted nothing but to get away from the ship. Unfortunately, his two seamen couldn't row. They flailed like a duck with a broken wing.

"Keep pulling...away from the ship. Pull."

"Ain't you boys ever rowed before? Here, give me those oars. I'll show you how it's done." Molly climbed over Ruth to get at the oars, stepping on her feet.

Around them, the evacuation was in full swing, with some boats in the water and others being lowered.


	43. Chapter Forty Two

Chapter Forty-Two

Jack pulled on the pipe with all his strength. It wasn't budging. He heard a gurgling sound. Water poured under the door, spreading rapidly across the floor.

"Shit!" He tried to pull one hand out of the cuffs, working it until the skin was raw...no good.

"Help! Somebody! Can anybody hear me?" He whispered to himself. "This could be bad."

The corridor outside was deserted, flooded a couple of inches deep. Jack's voice came faintly through the door, but there was no one to hear it.

*****

Thomas Andrews was opening stateroom doors, checking that people were out. "Anyone in here?"

Rose ran up to him, breathless. "Mr. Andrews! Thank God! Where would the Master-at-Arms take someone under arrest?"

"What? You have to get to a boat right away!"

"No! I'll do this with or without your help, sir. But without will take longer."

Andrews paused, thinking. "Take the elevator to the very bottom, go left, down the crewman's passage, then make a right."

"Bottom, left, right. I have it."

"Hurry, Rose."

*****

Rose ran up as the last elevator operator was closing up his lift to leave. "Sorry, Miss, lifts are closed—"

Without thinking, she grabbed him and shoved him back into the lift. "I'm through being polite, God dammit! I may never be polite the rest of my life! Now take me down!"

The operator fumbled to close the gate and start the lift.

*****

Molly and the two seamen were rowing, and they'd made it a hundred feet or so. Enough to see that the ship was angled down into the water, with the bow rail less than ten feet above the surface.

"Come on, girls, join in. It'll keep you warm. Let's go, Ruth. Grab an oar!" Molly called to the other occupants of the boat encouragingly.

Ruth just stared at the spectacle of the great liner, its rows of lights blazing, slanting down into the sullen black mirror of the Atlantic.

*****

Through the wrought iron door of the elevator car Rose could see the decks going past. The lift slowed. Suddenly, ice water was swirling around her legs. She screamed in surprise. So did the operator.

The car had landed in a foot of freezing water, shocking her. She clawed the door open and splashed out, hiking up her floor-length skirt so she could move. The lift went back up, behind her, as she looked around.

"Left, crew passage."

She spotted it and slogged down the flooded corridor. The place was understandably deserted. She was on her own.

"Right, right...right."

She turned into a cross-corridor, splashing down the hall. There was a row of doors on each side.

"Jack? Jack!"

*****

Jack was hopelessly pulling on the pipe again, straining until he turned red. He collapsed back on the bench, realizing he was screwed. Then he heard her through the door.

"Rose! In here!"

In the hall, Rose heard his voice behind her. She spun and ran back, locating the right door, then pushed it open, creating a small wave.

She splashed over to Jack and put her arms around him. "Jack, Jack, Jack...I'm sorry, I'm so sorry."

They were so happy to see each other it was embarrassing.

"That guy Lovejoy put it in my pocket."

"I know, I know."

"See if you can find a key for these. Try those drawers. It's a little brass one."

She kissed his face and hugged him again, then started to go through the desk.

"So...how did you find out I didn't do it?"

"I didn't." She looked at him. "I just realized I already knew."

They shared a look, and then she went back to ransacking the room, searching drawers and cupboards. Jack saw movement out the porthole and looked out. A lifeboat hit the surface of the water, seen from below.

*****

While the seamen detached the falls, Boat 1 rocked next to the hull. Lucille and Sir Cosmo Duff-Gordon sat with ten others in a boat made for four times that many.

"I despise small boats. I just know I'm going to be seasick. I always get seasick in small boats. Good heavens, there's a man down there."

In a lit porthole beneath the surface she saw Jack looking up at her...a face in a bubble of light under the water.

*****

Rose stopped trashing the room, and stood there, breathing hard. "There's no key in here."

They looked around at the water, now almost two feet deep. Jack had pulled his feet up onto the bench.

"You have to go for help."

Rose nodded. "I'll be right back."

"I'll wait here!" Jack called after her, stating the obvious.

Rose ran out, looking back at him once from the doorway, then splashed away. Jack looked down at the swirling water.

*****

Rose splashed down the hall to a stairwell going up to the next deck. She climbed the stairs, her long coat leaving a trail like a giant snail. The weight of it was really slowing her down. She ripped at the buttons and shimmied quickly out of the thing. She bounded up the stairs in her dress and high-heeled shoes, to find herself in a long corridor...part of the labyrinth of steerage hallways forward. She was alone there. A long groan of stressed metal echoed along the hall as the ship continued to settle. She ran down the hall, unimpeded now.

"Hello? Somebody!"

She turned a corner and ran along another corridor in a daze. The hall sloped down into water, which shimmered, reflecting the lights. The margin of the water crept toward her. A young man appeared, running through the water, sending up geysers of spray. He pelted past her without slowing, his eyes crazed.

"Help me! We need help!"

He didn't look back. It was like a bad dream. The hull gonged with terrifying sounds.

The lights flickered and went out, leaving utter darkness. A moment passed. Then they came back on. She found herself hyperventilating. That one moment of blackness was the most terrifying of her life.

A steward ran around the nearest corner, his arms full of lifebelts. He was upset to see someone still in his section. He grabbed her forcefully by the arm, pulling her with him like a wayward child. "Come on, then. Let's get you topside, miss. That's right."

"Wait. Wait! I need your help! There's—"

"No need for panic, miss. Come along!"

"No, let me go! You're going the wrong way!" He wasn't listening. And he wouldn't let her go. She shouted in his ear, and when he turned, she punched him squarely in the nose.

Shocked, he let her go, and staggered back. "To hell with you!"

"See you there, buster!"

The steward ran off, holding his bloody nose. She spat after him, just the way Jack had taught her.

She turned around, seeing a glass case with a fire ax in it. She broke the glass with a battered suitcase, which was lying discarded nearby, and seized the ax, running back the way she came.

At the stairwell she looked down and gasped. The water had flooded the bottom five steps. She went down and had to crouch to look along the corridor to the room where Jack was trapped.

Rose plunged into the water, which was up to her waist...and powered forward, holding the ax above her head in two hands. She grimaced at the pain from the literally freezing water.

*****

Jack had climbed up on the bench, and was hugging the water pipe. Rose waded in, holding the ax above her head.

"Will this work?"

"We'll find out."

They were both terrified, but trying to keep panic at bay. He positioned the chain connecting the two cuffs, stretching it taut across the steel pipe. The chain was, of course, very short, and his exposed wrists were on either side of it.

"Try a couple practice swings." Rose hefted the ax and thunked it into a wooden cabinet. "Now try to hit the same mark again." She swung hard, and the blade thunked in four inches from the mark. "Okay, that's enough practice."

He winced, bracing himself as she raised the ax. She had to hit a target about an inch wide with all the force she could muster, with his hands on either side.

Jack spoke to her, trying to sound calm. "You can do it, Rose. Hit it as hard as you can. I trust you." Jack closed his eyes. So did she.

The ax came down. Rose gingerly opened her eyes and looked...Jack was grinning with two separated cuffs.

Rose dropped the ax, all the strength going out of her.

"Nice work, there, Paul Bunyan." He climbed down into the water next to her. He couldn't breathe for a second. "Shit! Excuse my French. Ow, ow, ow, that is cold! Come on, let's go."

They waded out into the hall. Rose started toward the stairs going up, but Jack stopped her. There was only about a foot of the stairwell opening visible.

"Too deep. We gotta find another way out."

*****

The letters Titanic were painted two feet high on the bow of the doomed steamer. Once fifty feet above the waterline, they now were quietly slipping below the surface. The passengers saw them, gold on black, rippling and dimming to a pale green as they went deeper.

In Boat 6, Ruth looked back at the Titanic, transfixed by the sight of the dying liner. The bowsprit was now barely above the waterline. Another of Boxhall's rockets exploded overhead. It lit up the whole area, revealing the half a dozen boats in the water, spreading out from the ship.

"Now there's something you don't see every day." Molly shook her head, staring at the spectacle.


	44. Chapter Forty Three

Chapter Forty-Three

Scotland Road, on E Deck, was the widest passageway in the ship. It was used by crew and steerage alike, and ran almost the length of the ship. Right then steerage passengers moved along it like refugees, heading aft.

With a crash, a wooden doorframe splintered and the door burst open under the force of Jack's shoulder. Jack and Rose stumbled through into the corridor. A steward, who was nearby herding people along, marched over. "Here you! You'll have to pay for that, you know. That's White Star Line property—"

Jack and Rose turned together. "Shut up!"

Jack led her past the dumbfounded steward. They joined the steerage stragglers going aft. In places the corridor was almost completely blocked by large families carrying all their luggage.

An Irish woman gave Rose a blanket, more for modesty than because she was blue-lipped and shivering. "Here, lass, cover yourself."

Jack rubbed her arms and tried to warm her up as they walked along. The woman's husband offered them a flask of whiskey.                 "This'll take the chill off."

Rose took a mighty belt and handed it to Jack. He grinned and followed suit. Jack tried a number of doors and iron gates along the way, finding them all locked.

*****

On the boat deck, the action had moved to the aft group of boats, numbers 9, 11, 13, and 15 on the starboard side, and 10, 12, 14, and 16 on the port side. The pace of work was more frantic. Crew and officers were running now to work the davits, their previous complacency gone.

Cal pushed through the crowd, scanning for Rose. Around him was chaos and confusion. A woman was calling for a child who had become separated in the crowd. A man was shouting over people's heads. A woman took hold of Second Officer Lightoller's arm as he was about to launch Boat 10.

"Will you hold the boat a moment? I just have to run back to my room for something—"

Lightoller grabbed her and shoved her bodily into the boat. Thomas Andrews rushed up to him just then. "Why are the boats being launched half full?"

Lightoller stepped past him, helping a seaman clear a snarled fall. "Not now, Mr. Andrews."

Andrews pointed down at the water. "There, look...twenty or so in a boat built for sixty-five. And I saw one boat with only twelve. Twelve!"

"Well...we were not sure of the weight—"

"Rubbish! They were tested in Belfast with the weight of seventy men. Now fill these boats, Mr. Lightoller. For God's sake, man!"

Cal saw Lovejoy hurrying toward him through the aisle connecting the port and starboard sides of the boat deck.

"She's not on the starboard side either," Lovejoy reported.

"We're running out of time. And this strutting martinet..." Cal indicated Lightoller. "...isn't letting any men in at all."

"The one on the other side is letting men in."

"Then that's our play. But we're still going to need some insurance." He started off forward. "Come on."

Cal charged off, heading forward, followed by Lovejoy. Nearby stood a finely dressed elderly couple, Ida and Isador Strauss.

"Please, Ida, get into the boat."

"No. We've been together for forty years, and where you go, I go. Don't argue with me, Isador. You know it does no good."

He looked at her with sadness and great love. They embraced gently.

"Lower away!" Lightoller called.

*****

At the bow, the place where Jack and Rose first kissed, the bow railing went under water. Water swirled around the capstans and windlasses on the forecastle deck.

Smith strode to the bridge rail and looked down at the well deck. Water was shipping over the sides and the well deck was awash. Two men ran across the deck, their feet sending up spray. Behind Smith, Boxhall fired another rocket.

*****

Fabrizio, standing with Helga Dahl and her family, heard Jack's voice.

"Fabrizio! Fabri!"

Fabrizio turned and saw Jack and Rose pushing through the crowd. He and Jack hugged like brothers.

"The boats are all going," Fabrizio told him.

"We gotta get up there or we're gonna be gargling saltwater. Where's Tommy?"

Fabrizio pointed over the heads of the solidly packed crowd to the stairwell.

Tommy had his hands on the bars of the steel gate, which blocked the head of the stairwell. The crew opened the gate a foot or so and a few women were squeezing through.

"Women only. No men. No men!"

But some terrified men, not understanding English, tried to rush through the gap, forcing the gate open. The crewmen and stewards pushed them back, shoving and punching them.

"Get back! Get back, you lot!" The steward spoke to the crewmen. "Lock it!"

They struggled to get the gate closed again, while the steward brandished a small revolver. Another held a fire ax. They locked the gate, and a cry went up among the crowd, who surged forward, pounding against the steel and shouting in several languages.

"For the love of God, man, there are children down here! Let us up, so we can have a chance!"

But the crewmen were scared now. They had let the situation get out of hand, and now they had a mob. Tommy gave up and pushed his way back through the crowd, going down the stairs. He rejoined Jack, Rose, and Fabrizio. "It's hopeless that way."

"Well, whatever we're going to do, we better do it fast." Jack was trying to think of some solution.

Fabrizio turned to Helga, praying he could make himself understood. He spoke with a lot of hand gestures. "Everyone...all of you...come with me now. We go to boats. We go to boats. Capito? Come now!"

They couldn't understand what he was saying. They could see his urgency, but Olaf Dahl, the patriarch of the family, shook his head. He would not panic, and would not let his family go with this boy. Fabrizio turned to Helga.

"Helga...per favore...please...come with me, I am lucky. Is my destiny to go to America."

She kissed him, then stepped back to be with her family. Jack laid a hand on his shoulder, his eyes saying, "Let's go."

"I will never forget you."

He turned to Jack, who led the way out of the crowd. Looking back, Fabrizio saw her face disappear into the crowd.

*****

Cal opened his safe and reached inside. As Lovejoy watched, he pulled out two stacks of bills, still banded by bank wrappers. Then he took out the Heart of the Ocean, putting it in the pocket of his overcoat, and locked the safe.

Cal held up the stacks of bills. "I make my own luck."

Lovejoy patted the .45 in his waistband. "So do I."

Cal grinned, putting the money in his pocket as they went out.

*****

Jack, Rose, Fabrizio, and Tommy were lost, searching for a way out. They pushed past confused passengers...past a mother changing her baby's diaper on top of an upturned steamer trunk...past a woman arguing heatedly with a man in Serbo-Croatian, a wailing child next to them...past a man kneeling to console a woman who was just sitting on the floor, sobbing...and past another man with an English/Arabic dictionary, trying to figure out what the signs meant, while his wife and children waited patiently.

Jack and the others came upon a narrow stairwell, and they went up two decks before a small group pressed up against a steel gate stopped them. The steerage men were yelling at a scared steward.

"Go to the main stairwell, with everyone else. It'll all get sorted out there."

Jack took one look at this scene and finally just lost it. "God damn it to hell son of a bitch!"

He grabbed one end of a bench bolted to the floor on the landing. He started pulling on it, and Tommy and Fabrizio pitched in until the bolts sheared and it broke free. Rose figured out what they were doing and cleared a path up the stairs between the waiting people.

"Move aside! Quickly, move aside!"

Jack and Tommy ran up the steps with the bench and rammed it into the gate with all their strength. It ripped loose from its track and fell outward, narrowly missing the steward. Led by Jack, the crowd surged through. Rose stepped up to the cowering steward and said, in her most imperious tone, "If you have any intention of keeping your pathetic job with the White Star Line, I suggest you escort these good people to the boat deck...now."

Class won out. He nodded dumbly and motioned for them to follow.

*****

Ruth rowed with Molly Brown, two other women, and the incompetent sailors. She rested on her oars, exhausted, and looked back at the ship.

It slanted down into the water, still ablaze with light. Nothing was above water forward of the bridge except for the foremast. Another rocket went off, lighting up the entire area...there were a dozen boats moving outward from the ship.

At the boat deck rail, Captain Smith was shouting to Boat 6 through a large metal megaphone. "Come back! Come back to the ship!"

Chief Officer Wilde joined him, blowing his silver whistle.

From Boat 6, the whistle came shrilly across the water. Quartermaster Hitchens gripped the rudder in fear. "The suction will pull us right down if we don't keep going."

"We got room for lots more. I say we go back."

"No! It's our lives now, not theirs. And I'm in charge of this boat! Now row!"

Captain Smith, at the rail of the boat deck, lowered his megaphone slowly. "The fools."

*****

As Cal and Lovejoy crossed the foyer, they encountered Benjamin Guggenheim and his valet, both dressed in white tie, tailcoats, and top hats.

"Ben, what's the occasion?"

"We have dressed in our best and are prepared to go down like gentlemen."

"That's admirable, Ben." Cal walked on. "I'll be sure and tell your wife...when I get to New York."

*****

There were still two card games in progress. The first class smoking room was quiet and civilized. A silver serving cart, holding a large humidor, began to roll slowly across the room. One of the card players took a cigar from it as it rolled by.

"It seems we've been dealt a bad hand this time."

*****

Cal and Lovejoy were walking aft with a purposeful stride. They passed Chief Baker Joughin, who was working up a sweat tossing deck chairs over the rail. After they went by, Joughin took a break and pulled a bottle of scotch from a pocket, upending it. He drained it, and tossed it over the side, too, then stood there, a little unsteadily.

*****

Panic was setting in around the remaining boats aft. The crowd there was now a mix of all three classes. Officers repeatedly warned men back from the boats. The crowd pressed in closer.

Seaman Scarott brandished the tiller of Boat 14 to discourage a close press of men who looked ready to rush the boat. Several men broke ranks and rushed forward.

Lightoller pulled out his Webley revolver and aimed it at them. "Get back! Keep order!"

The men backed down. Fifth Officer Lowe, standing in the boat, yelled to the crew. "Lower away left and right!"

Lightoller turned away from the crowd and, out of their sight, broke his pistol open. Letting out a long breath, he started to load it.

*****

Cal and Lovejoy arrived in time to see Murdoch lowering his last boat.

"We're too late."

"There are still some boats forward. Stay with this one...Murdoch. He seems to be quite...practical."

In the water below, there was another panic. Boat 13, already in the water but still attached to its falls, was pushed aft by the discharge water being pumped out of the ship. It wound up directly under Boat 15, which was coming down right on top of it.

The passengers shouted in panic to the crew above to stop lowering. They were ignored. Some men put their hands up, trying futilely to keep the five tons of Boat 15 from crushing them.

Fred Barrett, the stoker, got out his knife and leapt to the falls, climbing rudely over people. He cut the aft falls while another crewman cut the forward lines. 13 drifted out from beneath fifteen just seconds before it touched the water with a slap.

Cal, looking down from the rail, heard gunshots.

*****

Fifth Officer Lowe, in Boat 14, was firing his gun as a warning to a bunch of men threatening to jump into the boat as it passed the open promenade on A Deck.

"Stay back, you lot!"

*****

The shots echoed away.

"It's starting to fall apart. We don't have much time." Cal was beginning to get worried.

Cal saw three dogs run by, including the black French bulldog. Someone had released the pets from the kennels.

Cal saw Murdoch turn from the davits of Boat 15 and start walking toward the bow. He caught up and fell in beside him.

"Mr. Murdoch, I'm a businessman, as you know, and I have a business proposition for you."


	45. Chapter Forty Four

Chapter Forty-Four

Jack, Rose, and the others burst out onto the boat deck from the crew stairs just aft of the third funnel. They looked at the empty davits.

"The boats are gone!" Rose exclaimed. She saw Colonel Gracie chugging forward along the deck, escorting two first class ladies. "Colonel! Are there any boats left?"

Gracie stared at her bedraggled state. "Yes, miss...there are still a couple of boats all the way forward. This way. I'll lead you!"

Jack grabbed her hand and they sprinted past Gracie, with Tommy and Fabrizio close behind.

Incredibly, the band was still playing. Jack, Rose, and the others ran by.

"Music to drown by. Now I know I'm in first class," Tommy commented.

*****

Water poured like a spillway over the forward railing on B Deck. Murdoch and his team were loading Collapsible C at the forward-most davits.

There were four so-called collapsibles, or Engelhardt boats, including two which were stored on the roof of the officers' quarters.

The crowd there was sparse, with most people still aft. Cal slipped his hand out of the pocket of his overcoat and into the waist pocket of Murdoch's greatcoat, leaving the stacks of bills there. "So, we have an understanding then?"

Murdoch nodded curtly. "As you've said."

Cal, satisfied, stepped back. He found himself waiting next to J. Bruce Ismay. Ismay did not meet his eyes, nor anyone's. Lovejoy came up to Cal at that moment. "I've found her. She's just over on the port side. With him."

"Women and children? Anymore women and children?" Murdoch glanced at Cal. "Anyone else, then?"

Cal looked longingly at his boat...his moment had arrived. "God damn it to hell! Come on."

He and Lovejoy headed for the port side, taking a shortcut through the bridge.

Bruce Ismay, seeing his opportunity, stepped quickly into Collapsible C. He stared straight ahead, not meeting Murdoch's eyes.

Murdoch stared at Ismay. "Take them down."

*****

On the port side, Lightoller was getting people into Boat 2. He kept his pistol in his hand at that point. Twenty feet below them, the sea was pouring into the doors and windows of B Deck staterooms. They could hear the roar of water cascading into the ship.

"Women and children please. Women and children only. Step back, sir."

Even with Jack's arms wrapped around her, Rose was shivering in the cold. Near her, a woman with two young daughters looked into the eyes of a husband she knew she might not see again.

"Good-bye for a little while...only for a little while." He spoke to his two little girls. "Go with mummy." The woman stumbled to the boat with the children, hiding her tears from them. Beneath the false good cheer, the man was choked with emotion. "Hold mummy's hand and be a good girl. That's right."

Some of the women were stoic, others were overwhelmed by emotion and had to be helped into the boats. A man scribbled a note and handed it to a woman who was about to board. "Please get this to my wife in Des Moines, Iowa."

Jack looked at Tommy and Fabrizio. "You better check the other side."

They nodded and ran off, searching for a way around the deckhouse.

"I'm not going without you." Rose was insistent.

"Get in the boat, Rose."

Cal walked up just then. "Yes. Get in the boat, Rose."

She was shocked to see him. She stepped instinctively to Jack. Cal looked at her, standing there shivering in her wet dress and shoes, a shocking display in 1912.

"My God, look at you." He took off his coat. "Here, put this on."

She numbly shrugged into it. He was doing it for modesty, not the cold.

"Quickly, ladies. Step into the boat. Hurry, please!"

"Go on. I'll get the next one." Jack tried to push Rose toward the boat.

"No. Not without you!"

She didn't even care that Cal was standing right there. He saw the emotion between Jack and Rose, and his jaw clenched. But then he leaned close to her and said, in a low voice, "Look, I have an arrangement with an officer on the other side of the ship. Jack and I can get off safely. Both of us."

Jack smiled reassuringly. "I'll be all right. Hurry up so we can get going...we got our own boat to catch."

"Get in...hurry up, it's almost full." Cal prodded her forward.

Lightoller grabbed her arm and pulled her toward the boat. She reached out for Jack and her fingers brushed his for a moment. Then she found herself stepping down into the boat. It was all a rush and blur.

"Lower away!"

The two men watched at the rail as the boat began to descend.

Cal spoke to Jack in a low voice. "You're a good liar."

"Almost as good as you."

"I always win, Jack. One way or another." He looked at him, smiling.

Jack knew he was screwed. He looked down at Rose, not wanting to waste a second of his last view of her.

Rose's perception seemed to be in slow motion. The ropes going through the pulleys as the seamen started to lower. All sound going away...Lightoller giving orders...his lips moving...but Rose heard only the blood pounding in her ears...this could not be happening...a rocket burst above in slow motion, outlining Jack in a halo of light...Rose's hair blowing in slow motion as she gazed up at him, descending away from him...she saw his hand trembling, the tears at the corners of his eyes, and could not believe the unbearable pain she was feeling.

Rose was still staring up, tears pouring down her face.

Suddenly, she was moving. She lunged across the woman next to her. Reached the gunwale, climbing it...hurling herself out of the boat to the rail of the A Deck promenade, catching it, and scrambling over the rail. Boat 2 continued down. But Rose was back on Titanic.

"No, Rose! No!" Jack spun from the rail, running for the nearest way down to A Deck.

Hockley, too, had seen her jump. She was willing to die for this man, this gutter scum. He was overwhelmed by a rage so all consuming it eclipsed all thought.

*****

Jack banged through the doors to the foyer and sprinted down the stairs. He saw her coming into the A Deck foyer, running toward him, Cal's long coat flying out behind her as she ran.

They met at the bottom of the stairs, and collided in an embrace.

"Rose, Rose, you're so stupid, you're such an idiot—" And all the while has was kissing her and holding her as tightly as he could.

"You jump, I jump, right?"

"Right."

Hockley came in and ran to the railing. Looking down, he saw them locked in their embrace. Lovejoy came up behind Cal and put a restraining hand on him, but Cal whipped around, grabbing the pistol from Lovejoy's waistband in one cobra-fast move.

He ran along the rail and down the stairs. As he reached the landing above them he raised the gun. Screaming in rage, he fired.

The carved cherub at the foot of the center railing exploded. Jack pulled Rose toward the stairs going down to the next deck. Cal fired again, running down the steps toward them. A bullet blew a divet out of the oak paneling behind Jack's head as he pulled Rose down the next flight of stairs.

Hockley stepped on the skittering head of the cherub statue and went sprawling. The gun clattered across the marble floor. He got up, and reeling drunkenly went over to retrieve it.

*****

The bottom of the grand staircase was flooded several feet deep. Jack and Rose came down the stairs two at a time and ran straight into the water, fording across the room to where the floor sloped up, until they reached dry footing at the entrance to the dining saloon.

Hockley reeled down the stairs in time to see Jack and Rose splashing through the water toward the dining saloon. He fired twice. Big gouts of spray near them, but he was not a great shot.

The water boiled up around his feet and he retreated up the stairs a couple of steps. Around him the woodwork groaned and creaked.

Cal called to them. "Enjoy your time together!"

Lovejoy arrived next to him. Cal suddenly remembered something and started to laugh.

"What could possibly be funny?"

"I put the diamond in my coat pocket. And I put my coat...on her." He turned to Lovejoy with a sickly expression, his eyes glittering. "I give it to you...if you can get it."

He handed Lovejoy the pistol and went back up the stairs. Lovejoy thought about it...then slogged into the water. The ice water was up to his waist as he crossed the pool to the dining saloon.


	46. Chapter Forty Five

Chapter Forty-Five

Lovejoy moved among the tables and ornate columns, searching...listening...his eyes tracking rapidly. It was a sea of tables, and they could be anywhere. A silver serving trolley rolled downhill, bumping into tables and pillars.

He glanced behind him. The water was following him into the room, advancing in a hundred foot wide tide. The reception room was now a roiling lake, and the grand staircase was submerged past the first landing. Monstrous groans echoed through the ship.

Jack and Rose crouched behind a table, somewhere in the middle. They saw the water advancing toward them, swirling over the floor. They crawled ahead of it to the next row of tables.

Jack whispered to Rose. "Stay here."

He moved off as Lovejoy moved over one row and looked along the tables. Nothing.

The ship groaned and creaked. He moved another row.

A metal cart five feet tall and full of stacks of china dishes started to roll down the aisle between tables.

The cart rolled toward Rose. It hit a table and the stacks of dishes toppled out, exploding across the floor and showering her.

She scrambled out of the way and Lovejoy spun, seeing her. He moved rapidly toward her, keeping the gun aimed.

That was when Jack tackled him from the side. They slammed together into a table, crashing over it, and toppling to the floor. They landed in the water, which was flowing rapidly between the tables.

Jack and Lovejoy grappled in the icy water. Jack jammed his knee down on Lovejoy's hand, breaking his grip on the pistol, and kicked it away. Lovejoy scrambled up and lunged at him, but Jack gut punched him right in the solar plexus, doubling him over.

"Compliments of the Chippewa Falls Dawsons."

He grabbed Lovejoy and slammed him into an ornate column. Lovejoy dropped to the floor with a splash, stunned.

"Let's go." Jack took Rose's hand and led her onward.

Jack and Rose ran aft...uphill...entering the galley. Behind them the tables had become islands in a lake...and the far end of the room was flooded up to the ceiling.

Lovejoy got up and looked around for his gun. He pulled it up out of the water and waded after them.

*****

They ran through the galley, and Rose spotted the stairs. She started up and Jack grabbed her hand. He led her down.

They crouched together on the landing as Lovejoy ran up to the stairs. Assuming they had gone up, he clomped up them two at a time.

They waited for the footsteps to recede. There was a long, creaking groan. Then they heard it...a crying child below them. They went down a few steps to look along the next deck.

*****

The corridor was awash about a foot deep. Standing against the wall, about fifty feet away, was a little boy, about three. The water swirled around his legs and he was wailing.

"We can't leave him." Rose stared at the child

Jack nodded and they left the promise of escape up the stairwell to run to the child. Jack scooped up the kid and they ran back to the stairs, but a torrent of water came pouring down the stairs like a rapids. In seconds it was too powerful for them to go against.

"Come on!"

Charging the other way down the flooding corridor, they blasted up spray with each footstep. At the end of the hall were heavy double doors. As Jack approached them, he saw water spraying through the gap between the doors right up to the ceiling. The doors groaned and started to crack under the tons of pressure.

"Back! Go back!"

Rose pivoted and ran back the way they came, taking a turn into a cross-corridor. A man was coming the other way. He saw the boy in Jack's arms and cried out, grabbing him away from Jack. He started cursing him in Russian. He ran on with the boy—

"No! Not that way! Come back!"

Double doors blasted open. A wall of water thundered into the corridor. The father and child disappeared instantly.

Jack and Rose ran as a wave blasted around the corner, foaming from floor to ceiling. It gained on them like a locomotive. They made it to a stairway going up.

*****

Jack and Rose pounded up the steps as white water swirled up behind them. A steel gate blocked the top of the stairs. Jack slammed against the gate, gripping the bars.

A terrified steward standing guard on the landing above turned to run at the sight of the water thundering up the stairs.

"Wait! Wait! Help us! Unlock the gate."

The steward ran on. The water welled up around Jack and Rose, pouring through the gate and slamming them against it. In seconds it was up to their waists.

"Help us! Please!"

The steward stopped and looked back. He saw Jack and Rose at the gate, their arms reaching through...saw the water pouring through the gate onto the landing.

"Bloody hell!"

He ran back, slogging against the current. He pulled a key ring from his belt and struggled to unlock the padlock as the water fountained up around them.

The lights shorted out and the landing was plunged into darkness.

The water rose over the lock and he was doing it by feel.

"Come on! Come on!" Jack and Rose were right up against the ceiling.

Suddenly the gate gave and swung open. The force of the water pushed them through. They made it to the stairs on the other side of the landing and followed the steward up to the next deck.

*****

Cal came reeling out of the first class entrance, looking wild-eyed. He lurched down the deck toward the bridge. Waltz music wafted over the ship. Somewhere the band was still playing.

A little girl, maybe two years old, was crying alone in an alcove. She looked up at Cal beseechingly. Cal moved on without a glance back...reaching a large crowd clustered around Collapsible A just aft of the bridge. He saw Murdoch and a number of crewmen struggling to drag the boat to the davits, with no luck.

Cal pushed forward, trying to signal Murdoch, but the officer ignored him. Nearby, Tommy and Fabrizio were being pushed forward by the crowd behind. Purser McElroy pushed them back, getting a couple of seamen to help him. He brandished his gun, waving it in the air, yelling for the crowd to stay back.

*****

Lightoller, with a group of crew and passengers, was trying to get Collapsible B down from the roof. They slid it down a pair of oars leaned against the deckhouse.

"Hold it! Hold it!"

The weight of the boat snapped the oars and it crashed to the deck, upside down. The two Swedish cousins, Olaus and Bjorn Gundersen, jumped back as the boat nearly hit them.


	47. Chapter Forty Six

Chapter Forty-Six

Jack and Rose ran up seemingly endless stairs as the ship groaned and torqued around them.

*****

Murdoch, at Collapsible A, was no longer in control. The crowd was threatening to rush the boat. They pushed and jostled, yelling and shouting at the officers. The pressure from behind pushed them forward, and one guy fell off the edge of the deck into the water less than ten feet below.

"Give us a chance to live, you limey bastards!" Tommy shouted.

Murdoch fired his Webley twice in the air, then pointed it at the crowd.    "I'll shoot any man who tries to get past me."

Cal stepped up to him. "We had a deal, damn you."

Murdoch pushed him back, pointing the pistol at Cal.                 "Get back!"

A man next to Tommy rushed forward, and Tommy was shoved from behind. Murdoch shot the first man, and seeing Tommy coming forward, put a bullet into his chest.

Tommy collapsed, and Fabrizio grabbed him, holding him in his arms as his blood flowed out over the deck.

Murdoch turned to his men and saluted smartly. Then he put the pistol to his temple and pulled the trigger. He dropped like a puppet with the strings cut and toppled over the edge of the boat deck into the water only a few feet below.

Cal stared in horror at Murdoch's body bobbing in the black water. The money floated out of the pocket of his greatcoat, the bills spreading across the surface.

The crew rushed to get the last few women aboard the boat.

Purser McElroy called above the confusion. "Any more women or children?"

The child was still crying in the alcove. Cal scooped her up and ran forward, cradling her in his arms.

Cal forced his way through the crowd. "Here's a child! I've got a child!" He spoke to McElroy. "Please...I'm all she has in the world."

McElroy nodded curtly and pushed him into the boat. He spun with his gun, brandishing it in the air to keep the other men back. Cal got into the boat, holding the little girl. He took a seat with the women.

"There, there."

*****

Thomas Andrews stood in front of the fireplace, staring at the large painting above the mantel. The fire was still going in the fireplace.

The room was empty except for Andrews. An ashtray fell off a table. Behind him, Jack and Rose ran into the room, out of breath and soaked. They ran through, toward the aft revolving door...then Rose recognized him. She saw that his lifebelt was off, lying on a table.

"Won't you even make a try for it, Mr. Andrews?"

A tear rolled down his cheek. "I'm sorry that I didn't build you a stronger ship, young Rose."

Jack spoke to her. "It's going fast...we've gotta keep moving."

Andrews picked up his lifebelt and handed it to her. "Good luck to you, Rose."

Rose hugged him. "And to you, Mr. Andrews."

Jack pulled her away and they ran through the revolving door.

*****

The band finished the waltz. Wallace Hartley looked at the orchestra members. "Right, that's it then."

They left him, walking forward along the deck. Hartley put his violin to his chin and bowed the first notes of _Nearer My God to Thee_. One by one the band members turned, hearing the lonely melody.

Without a word they walked back and took their places. They joined in with Hartley, filling out the sound so that it reached all over the ship on that still night. A few passengers began to sing along: "If in my dreams I be, nearer my God to thee..."

A seaman pulled off his lifebelt and caught up to Captain Smith as he walked to the bridge. He proffered it, but Smith seemed to stare through him. Without a word he turned and went onto the bridge. He entered the enclosed wheelhouse and closed the door. He was alone, surrounded by the gleaming brass instruments. He seemed to inwardly collapse.

In the first class smoking room Andrews stood like a statue. He pulled out his pocket watch and checked the time. Then he opened the face of the mantel clock and adjusted it to the correct time: 2:12 AM. Everything had to be correct.

In Cal's parlor suite water swirled in from the private promenade deck. Rose's paintings were submerged. The Picasso transformed under the water's surface. Degas' colors ran. Monet's water lilies came to life.

Two figures lay side by side, fully clothed, on a bed in a first class cabin. Elderly Ida and Isador Strauss stared at the ceiling, holding hands like young lovers. Water poured into the room through a doorway. It swirled around the bed, two feet deep and rising fast.

In a steerage cabin somewhere in the bowels of the ship, the young Irish mother, who had earlier been stoically waiting at the stairs, was tucking her two young children into bed. She pulled up the covers, making sure they were all warm and cozy. She lay down with them on the bed, speaking soothingly and holding them.

*****

A wave traveled up the boat deck as the bridge house sank into the water.

On the port side the water picked up Collapsible B. Working frantically, the men tried to detach it from the falls so the ship wouldn't drag it under. Colonel Gracie handed Lightoller a pocketknife and he sawed furiously at the ropes as the water swirled around his legs. The boat, still upside down, was swept off the ship. Men started diving in, swimming to stay with it.

In Collapsible A Cal sat next to the wailing child, whom he had completely forgotten. He watched the water rising around the men as they worked, scrambling to get the ropes cut so the ship wouldn't drag the collapsible under.

Fabrizio removed the lifebelt from Tommy's body and struggled to put it on as the water rose around him.

Captain Smith, standing near the wheel, watched the black water climbing the windows of the enclosed wheelhouse. He had the stricken expression of a damned soul on Judgment Day. The windows burst suddenly and a wall of water edged with shards of glass slammed into Smith. He disappeared in a vortex of foam.

Collapsible A was hit by a wave as the bow plunged suddenly. It partially swamped the boat, washing it along the deck. Over a hundred passengers were plunged into the freezing water and the area around the boat became a frenzy of splashing, screaming people.

As men were trying to climb into the collapsible, Cal grabbed an oar and pushed them back into the water. "Get back! You'll swamp us!"

Fabrizio, swimming for his life, got swirled under a davit. The ropes and pulleys tangled around him as the davit went under the water, and he was dragged down. Underwater he struggled to free himself, and then kicked back to the surface. He surfaced, gasping for air in the freezing water.

Wallace Hartley saw the water rolling rapidly up the deck toward them. He held the last note of the hymn in a sustain, and then lowered his violin. "Gentlemen, it has been a privilege playing with you tonight."


	48. Chapter Forty Seven

Chapter Forty-Seven

Jack and Rose ran out of the Palm Court into a dense crowd. Jack pushed his way to the rail and looked at the state of the ship. The bridge was under water and there was chaos on deck. Jack helped her put her lifebelt on. People streamed around them, shouting and pushing.

"Okay...we keep moving aft. We have to stay on the ship as long as possible."

They pushed their way aft through the panicking crowd.

*****

Collapsible A was whirled like a leaf in the currents around the sinking ship. It slammed against the side of the forward funnel.

Cal shouted to the crew in the boat. "Row! Row, you bastards!"

Fabrizio was drawn up against the grating of a stokehold vent as water poured through it. The force of tons of water roaring down into the ship trapped him against it, and he was dragged down under the surface as the ship sank. He struggled to free himself but could not.

Suddenly, there was a concussion deep in the bowels of the ship as a furnace exploded and a blast of hot air belched out of the ventilator, ejecting Fabrizio. He surfaced in a roar of foam and kept swimming.

*****

Jack and Rose clambered over the A Deck aft rail. Then, using all his strength, he lowered her toward the deck below, holding on with one hand. She dangled, then fell. Jack jumped down behind her.

They joined a crush of people literally clawing and scrambling over each other to get down the narrow stairs to the well deck...the only way aft.

Seeing that the stairs were impossible, Jack climbed over the B Deck railing and helped Rose over. He lowered her again, and she fell in a heap. Baker Joughin, now three sheets to the wind, happened to be next to her. He hauled Rose to her feet. Jack dropped down, and the three of them pushed through the crowd across the well deck. Near them, at the rail, people were jumping into the water.

The ship groaned and shuddered. The man ahead of Jack was walking like a zombie. "Yeah, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death—"

"You wanna walk a little faster through that valley, fella?"

*****

The stay cables along the top of the funnel snapped, and they lashed like steel whips down into the water. Cal watched as the funnel toppled from its mounts. Falling like a temple pillar twenty-eight feet across, it fell into the water with a tremendous splash. People swimming underneath it disappeared in an instant.

Fabrizio, a few feet away, was hurled back by a huge wave. He came up, gasping...still swimming. The water pouring into the open end of the funnel drew in several swimmers. The funnel sank, disappearing, but hundreds of tons of water poured down through the thirty-foot hole where the funnel stood, thundering down into the belly of the ship. A whirlpool formed, a hole in the ocean, like an enormous toilet flush. T.W. McCauley, the gym instructor, swam in a frenzy as the vortex drew him in. He was sucked down like a spider going down a drain.

Fabrizio, nearby, swam like hell as more people were sucked down behind him. He managed to get clear. He was going to live no matter what it took.

*****

Water roared through the doors and windows, cascading down the stairs like a rapids. John Jacob Astor was swept down the marble steps to A Deck, which was already flooded...a roiling vortex. He grabbed the headless cherub at the bottom of the staircase and wrapped his arms around it.

Astor looked up in time to see the thirty-foot glass dome overhead explode inward with the wave of water washing over it. A Niagara of seawater thundered down into the room, blasting through the first class opulence. It was the Armageddon of elegance.

*****

The flooding was horrific. Walls and doors were splintered like kindling. Water roared down corridors with pile-driver force.

The Cartmell family was at the top of a stairwell, jammed against a locked gate, like Jack and Rose were. Water boiled up the stairwell behind them. Bert Cartmell shook the gate futilely, shouting for help. Little Cora wailed as the water boiled up around them all.

*****

Rose and Jack struggled to climb the well deck stairs as the ship tilted. Drunk Baker Joughin put a hand squarely on Rose's butt and shoved her up onto the deck. "Sorry, miss!"

Hundreds of people were already on the poop deck, and more were pouring up every second. Jack and Rose clung together as they struggled across the tilting deck.

As the bow went down, the stern rose. In Boat 2, which was just off the stern, passengers gaped as the giant bronze propellers rose out of the water like gods of the deep.

People were jumping from the well deck, the poop deck, the gangway doors. Some hit debris in the water and were hurt or killed.

On the poop deck Jack and Rose struggled aft as the angle increased. Hundreds of passengers, clinging to every fixed object on deck, huddled on their knees around Father Byles, who had his voice raised in prayer. They were praying, sobbing, or just staring at nothing, their minds blank with dread.

Pulling himself from handhold to handhold, Jack tugged Rose aft along the deck. "Come on, Rose. We can't expect God to do all the work for us."

They struggled on, pushing through the praying people. A man lost his footing ahead and slid toward them. Jack helped him up.

The propellers were twenty feet above the water and rising faster.

Jack and Rose made it to the stern rail, right at the base of the flagpole. They gripped the rail, jammed in between other people. It was the spot where Jack pulled her back onto the ship, just two nights...and a lifetime...ago.

"Jack, this is where we first met."

Above the wailing and sobbing, Father Byles' voice carried, cracking with emotion. "...and I saw new heavens and a new earth. The former heavens and the former earth had passed away, and the sea was no longer."

The lights flickered, threatening to go out. Rose gripped Jack as the stern rose into a night sky ablaze with stars.

"I also saw a new Jerusalem, the holy city coming down out of heaven from God, beautiful as a bride prepared to meet her husband. I heard a loud voice from the throne ring out; this is God's dwelling among men. He shall dwell with them and they shall be His people and He shall be their God, who is always with them."

Rose stared about her at the faces of the doomed. Near them was the Dahl family, clinging together stoically. Helga looked at her briefly, and her eyes were infinitely sad.

Rose saw a young mother next to her, clutching her five-year-old son, who was crying in terror.

"Shh. Don't cry. It'll be over soon, darling. It'll all be over soon."

"He shall wipe every tear from their eyes. And there shall be no more death or mourning, crying out or pain, for the former world has passed away."

*****

As the ship tilted further everything not bolted down inside shifted.

Cupboards burst open in the pantry, showering the floor with tons of china. A piano slid across the floor, crashing into a wall. Furniture tumbled across the Smoking Room floor.

On the A Deck promenade passengers lost their grips and slid down the wooden deck like a bobsled run, hundreds of feet before they hit the water. Trudy Bolt, Rose's maid, slipped as she struggled along the railing, and slid away screaming.

At the stern the propellers were one hundred feet out of the water and rising. Panicking people leapt from the poop deck rail, fell screaming, and hit the water like mortar rounds. A man fell from the poop deck, hitting the bronze hub of the starboard propeller with a sickening smack.

Swimmers looked up and saw the stern towering over them like a monolith, the propellers rising against the stars. One hundred ten feet. One hundred twenty.

At the stern rail a man jumped. He fell seemingly forever, right past one of the giant screws. The water rushed up.

*****

Ruth listened as the sounds of the dying ship and the screaming people came across the water.

Titanic's lights were blazing, reflecting in the still water. Its stern was high in the air, angled up over forty-five degrees. The propellers were one hundred fifty feet out of the water. Over a thousand passengers clung to the decks, looking from a distance like a swarm of bees.

The image was shocking, unbelievable, unthinkable. Ruth stared at the spectacle, unable to frame it, or put it into any proportion.

"God almighty," Molly Brown whispered.

The great liner's lights flickered.

*****

In darkness Chief Engineer Bell hung onto a pipe at the master breaker panel. Around him men climbed through tilted cyclopean machines with electric hand torches. It was a black hell of breaking pipes, spraying water, and groaning machinery threatening to tear right out of its bedplates.

Water sprayed down, hitting the breaker panel, but Bell would not leave his post. The breakers kicked. He slammed them in again and there was a blast of light. Something melted, and arcing filled the engine room with nightmarish light.

*****

The lights went out all over the ship. Titanic became a vast, black silhouette against the stars.

In Collapsible C Bruce Ismay had his back to the ship, unable to watch the great steamer die. He was catatonic with remorse, his mind overloaded. He could avert his eyes, but he couldn't block out the sounds of dying people and machinery.

A loud, cracking report came across the water.

*****

Near the third funnel a man clutched the ship's rail. He stared down as the deck split right between his feet. A yawning chasm opened with a thunder of breaking steel.

Lovejoy was clutching the railing on the roof of the Officers' Mess. He watched in horror as the ship's structure ripped apart right in front of him. He gaped down into a widening maw, seeing straight down into the bowels of the ship, amid a booming concussion like the sound of artillery. People falling into the widening crevasse looked like dolls.

The stay cables on the funnel parted and snapped across the decks like whips, ripping off davits and ventilators. A man was hit by a whipping cable and swept into the crevasse. Another cable smashed the rail next to Lovejoy, and it ripped free. He fell backward into the pit of jagged metal.

Fires, explosions, and sparks lit the yawning chasm as the hull split down through nine decks to the keel. The sea poured into the gaping wound.

*****

It was a thundering black hell. Men screamed as monstrous machinery came apart around them, steel frames twisting like taffy. Their torches illuminated the roaring, foaming demon of water as it raced at them through the machines. Trying to climb, they were overtaken in seconds.

*****

The stern half of the ship, almost four hundred feet long, fell back toward the water. On the poop deck everyone screamed as they felt themselves plummeting. The sound went up like the roar of fans at a baseball stadium when a run was scored.

Swimming in the water directly under the stern, a few unfortunates shrieked as they saw the keel coming down on them like God's boot heel. The massive stern section fell back almost level, thundering down into the sea, and pushing out a mighty wave of displaced water.

Jack and Rose struggled to hold onto the stern rail. They felt the ship seemingly right itself. Some of those praying thought it was salvation.

"We're saved!"

Jack looked at Rose and shook his head, grimly.

Then the horrible mechanics played out. Pulled down by the awesome weight of the flooded bow, the buoyant stern tilted up rapidly. They felt the rush of ascent as the fantail angled up again. Everyone was clinging to benches, railings, ventilators...anything to keep from sliding as the stern lifted.

The stern went up and up, past forty-five degrees, then past sixty.

People started to fall, sliding and tumbling. They skidded down the deck, screaming and flailing to grab onto something. They wrenched other people loose, and pulled them down as well. There was a pile-up of bodies at the forward rail. The Dahl family fell one by one.

"We have to move!" Jack shouted. He climbed over the stern rail, and reached back for Rose. She was terrified to move. He grabbed her hand. "Come on! I've got you! I won't let go."

Jack pulled her over the rail. It was the same place he pulled her over the rail two nights earlier, going to other direction. She got over just as the railing was going horizontal, and the deck vertical. Jack gripped her fiercely.

The stern was now straight up in the air...a rumbling black monolith standing against the stars. It hung there like that for a long grace note, its buoyancy stable.

Rose lay on the railing, looking down fifteen stories to the boiling sea at the base of the stern section. People near them, who didn't climb over, hung from the railing, their legs dangling over the long drop. They fell one by one, plummeting down the vertical face of the poop deck. Some of them bounced horribly off deck benches and ventilators.

Jack and Rose lay side by side on what was the vertical face of the hull, gripping the railing, which was now horizontal. Just beneath their feet were the gold letters Titanic emblazoned across the stern.

Rose stared down, terrified, at the black ocean waiting below to claim them. Jack looked to his left, and saw Baker Joughin, crouching on the hull, holding onto the railing. It was a surreal moment.

Joughin nodded a greeting. "Hell of a night."

The final relentless plunge began as the stern section flooded. Looking down a hundred feet to the water, it dropped like an elevator with Jack and Rose.

Jack was talking fast. "Take a deep breath and hold it right before we go into the water. The ship will suck us down. Kick for the surface and keep kicking. Don't let go of my hand. We're gonna make it, Rose. Trust me."

She stared at the water coming up at them, and gripped his hand harder.

"I trust you."

Below them, the poop deck was disappearing. The plunge gathered speed...the boiling surface engulfed the docking bridge, and then rushed up the last thirty feet.

The stern descended into the boiling sea. The name Titanic disappeared, and the tiny figures of Jack and Rose vanished under the water.

Where the ship had stood, now there was nothing. Only the black ocean.


	49. Chapter Forty Eight

Chapter Forty-Eight

Bodies were whirled and spun, some limp as dolls, others struggling spasmodically, as the vortex sucked them down and tumbled them.

Jack kicked hard for the surface...holding tightly to Rose, pulling her up.

At the surface was a roiling chaos of screaming, thrashing people. Over a thousand people were now floating where the ship went down. Some were stunned, gasping for breath. Others were crying, praying, moaning, shouting...screaming.

Jack and Rose surfaced among them. They barely had time to gasp for air before people were clawing at them. People were driven insane by the water, four degrees below freezing, a cold so intense it was indistinguishable from death by fire.

A man pushed Rose under, trying to climb on top of her...senselessly trying to get out of the water, to climb onto anything. Jack punched him repeatedly, pulling her free.

"Swim, Rose! Swim!"

She tried, but her strokes were not as effective as his because of her lifebelt. They broke out of the clot of people. He had to find some kind of flotation, anything to get her out of the freezing water.

"Keep swimming. Keep moving. Come on, you can do it."

All about them there was a tremendous wailing, screaming and moaning...a chorus of tormented souls. And beyond that...nothing but black water stretching to the horizon. The sense of isolation and hopelessness was overwhelming.

*****

Jack stroked rhythmically, the effort keeping him from freezing. "Look for something floating. Some debris...wood...anything."

"It's so cold."

"I know. I know. Help me, here. Look around."

His words kept her focused, taking her mind off the wailing around them. Rose scanned the water, panting, barely able to draw a breath. She turned and screamed.

A devil was right in front of her face. It was the black French bulldog, swimming right at her like a sea monster in the darkness, its coal eyes bugging. It motored past her, like it was heading for Newfoundland.

Beyond it Rose saw something in the water.

"What's that?"

Jack saw what she was pointing to, and they made for it together. It was a piece of wooden debris, intricately carved. He pushed her up and she slithered onto it belly down.

But when Jack tried to get up onto the thing, it tilted and submerged, almost dumping Rose off. It was clearly only big enough to support her. He clung to it, close to her, keeping his upper body out of the water as best he could.

Their breath floated around them in a cloud as they panted from the exertion. A man swam toward them, homing in on the piece of debris. Jack warned him back.

"It's just enough for this lady...you'll push it under."

"Let me try at least, or I'll die soon."

"You'll die quicker if you come any closer."

"Yes, I see. Good luck to you then." He swam off. "God bless."

*****

The boat was overloaded and half-flooded. Men clung to the sides in the water. Others, swimming, were drawn to it as their only hope. Cal, standing in the boat, slapped his oar in the water as a warning.

"Stay back! Keep off!"

Fabrizio, exhausted and near the limit, made it almost to the boat. Cal clubbed him with the oar, cutting open his scalp.

"You don't...understand...I have...to get...to America."

Cal pointed with the oar. "It's that way!"

Fabrizio floated, panting, each breath agony. Cal could see the spirit leave him.

Cal seemed to move in slow motion, yelling and wielding the oar. A demon in a tuxedo. The image faded to black.


	50. Chapter Forty Nine

Chapter Forty-Nine

Jack and Rose still floated amid a chorus of the damned. Jack saw a ship's officer nearby, Chief Officer Wilde. He was blowing his whistle furiously, knowing the sound would carry over the water for miles.

"The boats will come back for us, Rose. Hold on just a little longer. They had to row away for the suction and now they'll be coming back."

She nodded, his words helping her. She was shivering uncontrollably, her lips blue and her teeth chattering.

"Thank God for you, Jack."

People were still screaming, calling to the lifeboats.

"Come back! Please! We know you can hear us. For God's sake!"

"Please...help us. Save one life! Save one life!"

*****

In Boat 6, Ruth had her ears covered against the wailing in the darkness. The first class women in the boat sat, stunned, listening to the sound of hundreds screaming.

"They'll pull us right down, I tell you!" Hitchens told them.

"Aw, knock it off. You're scaring me. Come on, girls. Grab your oars. Let's go," Molly argued. Nobody moved. "Well, come on!"

The women wouldn't meet her eyes. They huddled into their ermine wraps.

"I don't understand a one of you. What's the matter with you? It's your men back there! We got plenty of room for more."

"If you don't shut that hole in your face, there'll be one less in this boat!" Hitchens snapped.

Ruth kept her ears covered and her eyes closed, shutting it all out.

In Boat 1, Sir Cosmo and Lucille Duff-Gordon sat with ten other people in a boat that was two-thirds empty. They were two hundred yards from the screaming in the darkness.

"We should do something," Fireman Hendrickson said.

Lucille squeezed Cosmo's hand and pleaded to him with her eyes. She was terrified.

"It's out of the question," Sir Cosmo told them.

The crewmembers, intimidated by a nobleman, acquiesced. They hunched guiltily, hoping the sound would stop soon.

Twenty boats, most half full, floated in the darkness. None of them made a move.

*****

Jack and Rose drifted under the blazing stars. The water was glassy, with only the faintest undulating swell. Rose could actually see the stars reflecting on the black mirror of the sea.

Jack squeezed the water out of her long coat, tucking it in tightly around her legs. He rubbed her arms. His face was chalk white in the darkness. A low moaning sounded in the darkness around them.

"It's getting quiet," Rose whispered.

"Just a few more minutes. It'll take them a while to get the boats organized..."

Rose was unmoving, just staring into space. She knew the truth. There wouldn't be any boats. Behind Jack, she saw that Officer Wilde had stopped moving. He was slumped in his lifebelt, looking almost asleep. He had died of exposure already.

"I don't know about you, but I intend to write a strongly worded letter to the White Star Line about all this." Jack laughed weakly, but it sounded like a gasp of fear. Rose found his eyes in the dim light.

"I love you, Jack."

He took her hand. "No...don't say your good-byes, Rose. Don't you give up. Don't do it."

"I'm so cold."

"You're going to get out of this...you're going to go on, and you're going to make babies, and watch them grow, and you're going to die an old, old lady, warm in your bed. Not here. Not this night. Do you understand me?"

"I can't feel my body."

"Rose, listen to me. Listen. Winning that ticket was the best thing that ever happened to me." Jack was having trouble getting the breath to speak. "It brought me to you. And I'm thankful, Rose. I'm thankful." His voice was trembling with the cold, which was working its way to his heart. But his eyes were unwavering. "You must do me this honor...promise me you will survive...that you will never give up...no matter what happens...no matter how hopeless...promise me now, and never let go of that promise."

"I promise."

"Never let go."

"I promise. I will never let go, Jack. I'll never let go."

She gripped his hand and they lay with their heads together. It was quiet now, except for the lapping of the water.


	51. Chapter Fifty

Chapter Fifty

Fifth Officer Lowe, the impetuous young Welshman, had gotten Boats 10, 12, and Collapsible D together with his own Boat 14. A demon of energy, he'd had everyone hold the boats together, and was transferring passengers from 14 into the others, to empty his boat for a rescue attempt.

As the women stepped gingerly across into the other boats, Lowe saw a shawled figure in too much of a hurry. He ripped the shawl off, and found himself staring into the face of a man. He angrily shoved the stowaway into another boat and turned to his crew of three.

"Right, man the oars."

*****

The beam of an electric torch played across the water like a searchlight as Boat 14 came through the water.

The torch illuminated floating debris, a poignant trail of flotsam: a violin, a child's wooden soldier, a framed photo of a steerage family, Daniel Marvin's wooden Biograph camera.

Then, their white lifebelts bobbing in the darkness like signposts, the first bodies came into the torch's beam. The people were dead, but not drowned, killed by the freezing water. Some looked like they could be sleeping. Others stared with frozen eyes at the stars.

Soon bodies were so thick the seamen could not row. They hit the oars on the heads of floating men and women...a wooden thunk. One seaman threw up. Lowe saw a mother floating with her arms frozen around her lifeless baby.

It was the worst moment of Lowe's life. "We waited too long."

*****

Jack and Rose floated in the black water. The stars reflected in the millpond surface, and the two of them seemed to be floating in interstellar space. They were absolutely still. Their hands were locked together. Rose was staring upwards at the canopy of stars wheeling above her. The music was transparent, floating...as the long sleep stole over Rose, and she felt peace.

Rose's face was pale, like the faces of the dead. She seemed to be floating in a void. Rose was in a semi-hallucinatory state. She knew she was dying. Her lips barely moved as she sang a scrap of Jack's song.

"Come Josephine in my flying machine..."

Rose saw the stars as she'd never seen them. The Milky Way was a glorious band from horizon to horizon.

A shooting star flared...a line of light across the heavens.

Rose's hair was dusted with frost crystals. Her breathing was so shallow, she was almost motionless. Her eyes tracked down from the stars to the water.

Seemingly in slow motion, Rose saw the silhouette of a boat crossing the stars. She saw men in it, rowing so slowly the oars lifted out of the syrupy water, leaving weightless pearls floating in the air. The voices of the men sounded slow and distorted.

Then the lookout flashed his torch toward her, and the light flared across the water, silhouetting the bobbing corpses in between. It flicked past her motionless form and moved on. The boat was fifty feet away, and moving past her. The men looked away.

Rose lifted her head to turn to Jack. Her hair had frozen to the wood under her.

Rose's voice was barely audible. "Jack."

She touched his shoulder with her free hand. He didn't respond. Rose gently turned his face toward her. It was rimed with frost.

He seemed to be sleeping peacefully.

But he was not asleep.

Rose could only stare at his still face as the realization went through her.

"Oh, Jack."

All hope, will, and spirit left her. She looked at the boat. It was further away now, the voices fainter; Rose watched them go.

She closed her eyes. She was so weak, and there just seemed to be no reason to even try.

And then...her eyes snapped open.

She raised her head suddenly, cracking the ice as she ripped her hair off the wood. She called out, but her voice was so weak they didn't hear her. The boat was invisible now, the torch light a star impossibly far away. She struggled to draw breath, calling again.

In the boat, Lowe heard nothing behind him. He pointed to something ahead, turning the tiller.

Rose struggled to move. Her hand, she realized, was actually frozen to Jack's. She breathed on it, melting the ice a little, and gently unclasped their hands, breaking away a thin tinkling film.

"I won't let go. I promise."

She released him, and he sank into the black water. He seemed to fade out, like a spirit returning to some immaterial plane.

Rose rolled off the floating staircase and plunged into the icy water. She swam to Chief Officer Wilde's body and grabbed his whistle. She started to blow the whistle with all the strength in her body. Its sound slapped across the still water.

In Boat 14, Lowe whipped around at the sound of the whistle.

Lowe turned the tiller. "Row back! That way! Pull!"

Rose kept blowing as the boat came to her. She was still blowing when Lowe took the whistle from her mouth as they hauled her into the boat. She slipped into unconsciousness, and they scrambled to cover her with blankets.


	52. Chapter Fifty One

Chapter Fifty-One

1996

Inside the imaging shack on the Keldysh, Rose's ancient, wrinkled face gazed at the assembled group, who were looking at her in sorrow.

"Fifteen hundred people went into the sea when Titanic sank from under us. There were twenty boats floating nearby, and only one came back. One. Six were saved from the water, myself included. Six, out of fifteen hundred."

As she spoke, she looked slowly across the faces of Lizzy and the salvage crew on Keldysh. Lovett, Bodine, Buell, the others...the reality of what happened there eighty-four years before had hit them like never before. With her story, Rose had put them on Titanic in its final hours, and for the first time, they did feel like grave robbers.

Lovett, for the first time, had even forgotten to ask about the diamond.

"Afterward, the seven hundred people in the boats had nothing to do but wait...wait to die, wait to live, wait for an absolution which would never come."


	53. Chapter Fifty Two

Chapter Fifty-Two

The faces of the saved were solemn as they sat in the lifeboats in the pre-dawn darkness, the open sea lapping quietly around them. In one boat after another, the survivors sat quietly, waiting.

Ismay was in a trance, just staring and trembling. Cal sipped from a hip flask offered to him by a black-faced stoker. Ruth hugged herself, rocking gently.

In Boat 14, Rose lay swaddled. Only her face was visible, white as the moon. The man next to her jumped up, pointing and yelling. Soon everyone was looking and shouting excitedly. To Rose, everything was silent, in slow motion.

Lowe lit a green flare and waved it as everyone shouted and cheered. Rose didn't react. She floated beyond all human emotion.

Golden light washed across the white boats, which floated in a calm sea reflecting the rosy sky. All around them, like a flotilla of sailing ships, were icebergs. The Carpathia sat nearby, as boats rowed toward her.

Images dissolved into one another: a ship's hull looming, with the letters Carpathia visible on the bow...Rose watching, rocked by the sea, her face blank...seamen helping survivors up the rope ladder to the Carpathia's gangway doors...two women crying and hugging each other inside the ship. All was silent, all in slow motion, to Rose's point of view. There was just music somewhere, so gentle and sad, part elegy, part hymn, part aching song of love lost forever.

The images and music continued...Rose, outside of time, outside of herself, coming into Carpathia, barely able to stand...Rose being draped with warm blankets and given hot tea...Bruce Ismay climbing aboard. He had the face and eyes of a damned soul.

As Ismay walked along the hall, guided by a crewman toward the doctor's cabin, he passed rows of seated and standing widows. He had to run the gauntlet of their accusing gazes. It was the longest walk of his life.


	54. Chapter Fifty Three

Chapter Fifty-Three

It was the afternoon of the fifteenth. Cal was searching the faces of widows lining the deck, looking for Rose. The deck of Carpathia was crammed with huddled people, and even the recovered lifeboats of Titanic. On a hatch cover sat an enormous pile of lifebelts.

He kept walking toward the stern. Seeing Cal's tuxedo, a steward approached him. "You won't find any of your people back here, sir. It's all steerage."

Cal ignored him and went amongst this wretched group, looking under shawls and blankets at one bleak face after another.

Rose was sipping hot tea. Her eyes focused on him as he approached her. He barely recognized her. She looked like a refugee, her matted hair hanging in her eyes. "Yes, I lived. How awkward for you."

"Rose...your mother and I have been looking for you—"

She held up her hand, stopping him. "Please don't. Don't talk. Just listen. We will make a deal, since that is something you understand. From this moment you do not exist for me, nor I for you. You shall not see me again. And you will not attempt to find me. In return I will keep my silence. Your actions last night need never come to light, and you will get to keep the honor you have so carefully purchased." She fixed him with a glare as cold and hard as the ice which had changed their lives. "Is this in any way unclear?"

After a long pause, Cal asked, "What do I tell your mother?"

"Tell her that her daughter died with the Titanic." She stood, turning to the rail. Dismissing him. Cal was stricken with emotion.

"You're precious to me, Rose."

"Jewels are precious. Good-bye, Mr. Hockley."

In his way, the only way he knew, he truly did love her.

After a moment, he turned and walked away.

That was the last time she ever saw him. He married, of course, and inherited his millions. The crash of '29 hit his interests hard, and he put a pistol in his mouth that year. His children fought over the scraps of his estate like hyenas, or so she read.


	55. Chapter Fifty Four

Chapter Fifty-Four

Rose stood at the railing of the Carpathia, at nine PM on April eighteenth. She gazed up at the Statue of Liberty, looking just as it does today, welcoming her home with her glowing torch. It was just as Fabrizio saw it, so clearly, in his mind.

Later, Carpathia disgorged the survivors at the Cunard pier, Pier 54. Over thirty thousand people lined the docks and filled the surrounding streets. The magnesium flashes of the photographers went off like small bombs, lighting an amazing tableau.

Several hundred police kept the mob back. The dock was packed with friends and relatives, officials, ambulances, and the press.

Reporters and photographers swarmed everywhere...six deep at the foot of the gangways, lining the tops of cars and trucks...it was the 1912 equivalent of a media circus. They jostled to get close to the survivors, tugging on them as they passed and shouting over each other to ask them questions.

Rose was covered with a woolen shawl and walking with a group of steerage passengers. Immigration officers were asking them questions as they came off the gangway.

"Name?"

"Dawson. Rose Dawson."

The officer steered her toward a holding area for processing. Rose walked forward with the dazed immigrants. The boom of photographers' magnesium flashes caused them to flinch, and the glare was blinding. There was a sudden disturbance near her as two men burst through the cordon, running to embrace an older woman among the survivors, who cried out with joy. The reporters converged on this emotional scene, and flashes exploded.

Rose used this moment to slip away into the crowd. She pushed through the jostling people, moving with purpose, and none challenged her in the confusion.

Could she exchange one life for another? A caterpillar turned into a butterfly. If a mindless insect could do it, why couldn't she? Was it any more unimaginable than the sinking of the Titanic?

She walked away, further and further until the flashes and the roar were far behind her, and she was still walking, determined.


	56. Chapter Fifty Five

Chapter Fifty-Five

Old Rose sat with the group in the imaging shack, lit by the blue glow of the screens. She held the hair comb with the jade butterfly on the handle in her gnarled hands.

Bodine spoke to her. "We never found anything on Jack. There's no record of him at all."

"No, there wouldn't be, would there? And I've never spoken of him until now, not to anyone." She turned to Lizzy. "Not even your grandfather. A woman's heart is a deep ocean of secrets. But now you all know there was a man named Jack Dawson, and that he saved me, in every way that a person can be saved." She closed her eyes. "I don't even have a picture of him. He exists now only in my memory."

*****

The Mir submersibles made their last pass over the ship. They heard Yuri the pilot on the UQC.

"Mir 1 returning to surface."

The sub rose off the deck of the wreck, taking its light with it, leaving the Titanic once again in its fine and private darkness.

*****

A desultory wrap party for the expedition was in progress. There was music and some of the co-ed Russian crew were dancing. Bodine was getting drunk in the aggressive style of Baker Joughin.

Lovett stood at the rail, looking down into the black water. Lizzy came to him, offering him a beer. She put her hand on his arm. "I'm sorry."

"We were pissing in the wind the whole time." Lovett noticed a figure move through the lights far down at the stern of the ship. "Oh, shit."

*****

Rose walked through the shadows of the deck machinery. Her nightgown blew in the wind. Her feet were bare. Her hands were clutched at her chest, almost as if she was praying.

Brock and Lizzy ran down the stairs from the top deck, hauling ass.

Rose reached the stern rail. Her gnarled fingers wrapped over the rail. Her ancient foot stepped up on the gunwale. She pushed herself up, leaning forward. Over her shoulder, the black water glinted far below.

Brock and Lizzy ran up behind her.

"Nana, wait! Don't—"

Rose turned her head, looking at them. She turned further, and they saw she had something in her hand, something she was about to drop overboard.

It was the Heart of the Ocean.

Lovett saw his holy grail in her hand and his eyes went wide. Rose kept it over the railing where she could drop it anytime. "Don't come any closer."

"You had it the entire time?"

In Rose's mind's eye, she could see herself walking away from Pier 54. The photographers' flashes went off like a battle behind her. She had her hands in her pockets. She stopped, feeling something, and pulled out the necklace. She stared at it in amazement.

On Keldysh, Rose smiled at Brock's incomprehension. "The hardest part about being so poor was being so rich. But every time I thought of selling it, I thought of Cal. And somehow I always got by without his help."

She held it out over the water. Bodine and a couple of the other guys came up behind Brock, reacting to what was in Rose's hand. "Holy shit."

"Don't drop it, Rose."

Bodine spoke in a fierce whisper. "Rush her."

Lovett turned to Bodine. "It's hers, you schmuck." Turning back to Rose, he said, "Look, Rose, I...I don't know what to say to a woman who tries to jump off the Titanic when it's not sinking, and jumps back onto it when it is...we're not dealing with logic here, I know that...but please...think about this a second."

"I have. I came all the way here so this could go back where it belongs."

The massive diamond glittered. Brock edged closer and held out his hand. "Just let me hold it in my hand, Rose. Please. Just once."

He came closer to her. It was reminiscent of Jack slowly moving up to her at the stern of Titanic.

Surprisingly, she calmly placed the massive stone in the palm of his hand, while still holding onto the necklace. Brock gazed at the object of his quest. An infinity of cold scalpels glinted in its blue depths. It was mesmerizing. It fit in his hand just like he imagined.

"My God." His grip tightened on the diamond.

He looked up, meeting her gaze. Her eyes were suddenly infinitely wise and deep.

"You look for treasure in the wrong place, Mr. Lovett. Only life is priceless, and making each day count."

His fingers relaxed. He opened them slowly. Gently, she slipped the diamond out of his hand. He felt it sliding away.

Then, with an impish little grin, Rose tossed the necklace over the rail. Bodine gave a strangled cry and rushed to the rail in time to see it hit the water and disappear forever.

"Aw! That really sucks, lady!"

Brock Lovett went through ten changes before he settled on a reaction...he laughed. He laughed until the tears came to his eyes. Then he turned to Lizzy. "Would you like to dance?"

Lizzy grinned at him and nodded. Rose smiled. She looked up at the stars.

In the black heart of the ocean, the diamond sank, twinkling end over end, into the infinite depths.

*****

On Rose's shelf of carefully arranged pictures: Rose as a young actress in California, radiant...a theatrically lit studio publicity shot...Rose and her husband, with their two children...Rose with her son at his college graduation...Rose with her children and grandchildren at her seventieth birthday. A collage of images of a life lived well.

One picture in particular stood out. Rose, circa 1920. She was at the beach, sitting on a horse at the surf line. The Santa Monica pier, with its roller coaster, was behind her. She was grinning, full of life.

Rose herself lay warm in her bunk. She was very still. She could be sleeping, or maybe something else.


	57. Epilogue

Epilogue

Blackness.

The wreck of Titanic loomed like a ghost out of the dark. It was lit by a kind of moonlight, a light of the mind. She passed over the endless forecastle deck to the superstructure, moving faster than subs could move...almost like she was flying.

She went inside, and the echoing sound of distant waltz music was heard. The rust faded away from the walls of the dark corridor, and it was transformed. She emerged onto the grand staircase, lit by glowing chandeliers. The music was vibrant now, and the room was populated by men in tie and tails, women in gowns. It was exquisitely beautiful.

She swept down the staircase. The crowd of beautiful gentlemen and ladies turned as she descended toward them. At the bottom a man stood with his back to her...he turned, and it was Jack. Smiling, he held his hand out toward her.

Rose went into his arms, a girl of seventeen. The passengers, officers, and crew of the RMS Titanic smiled and applauded in the utter silence of the abyss.

The End.


End file.
